Old Gods
by robgarfield80
Summary: Vimes is about to see the future... and it isn't good!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

The shades, a quiet, respectable neighbourhood of Ankh-Morpork, filled with quaint characters and olde world charm. This would be description any copper would love to give in his area report, but alas there was no such luck.

It had all the charm, quiet and respectability of a semi-derelict council estate, and the quaint characters normally rob, assault or murder you for fun, sometimes all three if they felt generous.

This night though, the denizens of the Shades had some entertainment in the form of pit fights, held beneath an old cold storage warehouse near the docks. Behind the battered rusty doors, two troll bouncers stood silently, collecting entrance fees whilst cut-purses, vagabonds and charlatans rubbed shoulders, and occasionally palms, with the silver-spooners of society with a blood lust. The room itself was hazy with roll-up, pipe and cigar smoke, the air thick with the smell of blood, sweat, cheap cologne, expensive perfume and sawdust, not to mention a make shift sausage inna bun stall mingling it's own unique odour.

In the pit, a swarthy man dressed in worn trousers, a faded white shirt ad a tatty bowler hat shouted the fight odds and collected bets from the punters, while a smaller, similarly dressed man scribbled current totals on a chalkboard on the arena wall.

'Ok...ok...' the bookie shouted over the din. 'M'lords, ladies and gentlemen... and you lot from 'round here!' There was a general laugh at this as the audience quietened down. 'Welcome to my fine establishment, I am Lars 'nutcracker' Thompson. Those of you in the VIP sections will notice, for your convenience, we have provided free refreshments snacks, wet wipes, stab vests and knuckledusters, in gold or silver, his and hers!'

He paused again, before flashing a showman's smile to the entire room, turning as he did.

'Tonight we have a spectacular show of brutality, for your... paying entertainment! From the four corners of the Disc I have some of the most talented and vicious combatants since the days of yore!'

'Your what?' a heckler shouted, to a quiet wave of laughs.

'Very droll, sir... Now, onto the undercard fighters...'

Again he was interupted, this time by a shadowy figure in the VIP section.

'We came to see _him_ fight... five hundred Ankh dollars if you make them fight now!'

The room fell silent, except for a fat toff already drunk and red faced, on the other side of the arena.

'A thousand to shut that man up, hmm?' He slurred loudly, all eyes swung back to the first figure. The was a faint _sssswip_ sound, a fleck of silver caught the lamp light, and the drunkard toppled backwards off his chair with a feathered dart lodged in his windpipe.

'No one need panic...' the dart thrower said. 'He'll be awake by morning. 'Now, about my offer?'

Thompson was not about to lose face in front of his home crowd, so cleared hs throat and sai.

'Look, sir, I wouldn't change me schedule for none of ya, why the Patrician himself could demand it, and I'd tell him to kiss my arse! My 'ouse, my fights, my rules ok?'

'The Patrician himself, you say?' The figure asked, now standing. The air seemed to chill in the tones of his voice. 'The same Assassins Guild trained, dictator tyrant of Ankh-Morpork Patrician... the one with the latest gadgets and noisiest kittens in his dungeon?'

'Y...Yeah!' Lars said, slightly less confident now. 'Right on me sheriff's rusty badge...' he waited for a laugh, but still only silence from the audience.

The man stepped forward into the dim light and pulled back his hood and collar to show the angular features, time worn and serious, of Lord Havelock Vetnari, his salt and pepper beard trimmed and waxed to a fine point.

'Let me remind you, Mister Thompson, that your house, as you put it, is in MY city! Should I decide, I may relocate you to more cosy accomodations beneath the palace, and have this building dropped a mile off shore. Now, for the last time, the fight?'

'Of course your grace... at once!' He shouted to the ushers to inform the fighters.

'Very good, mister Thompon'. Vetinari sat back down, instantly just a shadow again.

'Ok, you lucky bastards. His lordship has...kindly... requested the main fight, so we shall oblige!' Lars shouted, if nothing else he was _the_ consumate showman his grin wider than ever.

Two hatches within the arena wall swung open and two hooded figures emerge, their faces hidden by wooden masks, for suspense.

'Our first fighter is...' Lars opened a small envelope, and aped surprise as he continued. 'Achmed 'the Organ Grinder' Antchovi! Our reigning champion from Klatch'.

The beast of a man towered at least a foot over his opponent, almost a third wider. The common mob when berserk with applause, whilst the rich folk simply prodded their servants to do it.

A few quiet "Jolly good fun, wot?" and '" bet you my manor in Quirm"'s floated around too.

'His opponent is a local lad done good!' Lars continued. 'From the Shades, with us gutter rats, to the Dolly Sisters, as a duke, no less! That's right, for one night only, I present to you... Sam Vimes! He has signed the waiving of his oficial titles and ranks within the City Watch whilst in this pit!'

'Gentlemen... you have three minutes to warm-up, pray, or whatever. Good luck, and don't forget dental goldwork is property of the house if you lose it or die!'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam slipped the cloak off and removed the mask. At just over fifty he looked like someone had draped a battered, rough 'Sam' shaped leather suit over younger, more muscular body. His opponent was a former Klatchian Foreign Legion sergeant whom made a better living pounding on weaker men than himself. Vimes had dealt with _these_ sort of men all his life, but tonight he was going to have to make a show of it.

The plan had been in motion for months now. Vimes had appeared in random bars around Ankh-Morpork, looking drunk and itching for a fight. Soon, he was approached by some seedy fight promoter, who for immunity from the long arm of the law, could arrange for Vimes to earn a bit of extra booze money in the pits. He scrapped with dockers, iron workers, hard men, wannabes and even seasoned prize fighters, and each time he made short work of them. Soon he was pulling in huge crowds, and huge crowds means big money, and big money means the scum floats to the surface. He would stagger in and slur with expertise but nobody noticed the bottle of Bearhuggers he carried to the pit was actually filled with water.

Now he had all the scum in one pond. Every nob, soft-jaw, silver-spooner, greasy socalite and gold digger involved was sat in the private areas nearest the arena. Vetinari was, as protocol demanded, there to ensure that the toffs were afforded a 'socially acceptable' arrest. They didn't know this, though. Members of the watch were carefully disguised as ushers, vendors, and spectators. (In this case, Nobby Nobbs had to scrub up to look 'poor').

He watched as Achmed limbered up. He had learned over the years that to beat a man, you must know him, and a person's eyes were like a manual. Vimes figured this man had seen 'real' war, where the heroes are the lucky, clever or cowardly. He'd seen his mates come back in buckets, or they'd gone mad and now sat in hospital under heavy sedation during thunder storms. This evil bastard had loved it though. The blood, the violence and death had liberated his mind of its sanity. His attacks would be swift and brutal, no fancy kung flu, each blow was designed to end a man. Sam glimpsed a faint web of scarring on Antchovi's right arm, Igor handy work and weak bones.

'Time, gentlemen!' Lars shouted. 'Now remember the rules! Give them a nice, dirty fight and come out swinging. Achmed, you ready?'

The Klatchian grunted, then spat on the saw dust covered floor.

'You ready, copper?' Lars leaned a little closer to Vimes and whispered. 'A lot of folks here don't want you walking out of here, be a sport and don't dis...' There was a sickening crunch as Sam Vimes head butted Lars square on the nose. He looked at Antchovi and grinned menacingly.

'Git talked too much. Shall we?'

Lars crawled to the edge of the pit, where he as pulled over by his cronies

The big man walked forward, raising his bandaged fists to cover his temples.

'I'll take that as a yes then?' Vimes said, doing likewise.

It started with a dance, like two cockrels, circling each other looking for the opening, which Vimes helpfully gave his opponent. He dropped his guard enough for Achmed to slip a blinding jab in, causing Vimes to stagger back and stumble to his knees.

Vimes saw blood dripping into the sawdust. 'Good!' he thought. 'Let's see if the shark takes the bait'.

'This is de infamous Sammy Vimes, commander of the city watch?' Achmed mocked, still pacing around the pit. 'A puny, old man who takes a baby punch? No... I think you try to trick Achmed! You who are called devious bastard in any tongues!' He punctuated the sentence by kicking sawdust at Vimes.

Nobby, who had skulked his way to the pit side and hissed to Vimes. 'C'mon sir! Hit the bugger! Oh...' His voice lowered further. '… bout 'nother five mins for the wagons!' A large stone hand clamped down on Nobby's shoulder.

'Riff-raff at da back, you 'orrid vermin!'

Some of the toffs grinned and sneered as the 'peasant' was accosted.

'Oi! Gerroff me you garden ornament!' Nobby howled in protest, making a scene. He winked at his boss before being troll handled back to the cheap seats.

Vimes clambered back to his feet, wiped the blood from the cut above his right eye.

'You got me, Achmed! You're clever, for a sand dancer!' Vimes grinned.

The world seemed to slow down for Vimes as his brain registered the muscles in the Klatchian's right shoulder twitch, but instead of moving left he bobbed right. The lightning fast left hook of Achmed sailed through thin air, and Vimes answered with a dazzling right cross. He felt teeth crack and shift under his covered knuckles and a wet pop as the jaw gave out.

'A sandpeddler with a glass jaw? Well, bugger me!' Vimes excaimed smiling, although his eyes said different.

Achmed swayed like a reed in the wind, but Vimes still had to play for a bit of time.

Sam closed in again, his guard down, hoping the brute would try another swing, but man's eyes were glazed over, he was out on his feet. Vimes danced a jig in front of Antchovi, who simply stood with hs eyes trying to see each other.

'Come on! Fight you bast...' Now Vimes' head exploded in pain and the world faded in and out of his mind. He had fallen for his own trick, and Achmed stood looking demented. He snapped his own jaw back into it's socket tested it gingerly with small movements and then laughed.

'You are old, Vimes. I am bull and you are my cow to do with as I please!And what do bulls do to cows, old man?'

Vimes answered with a flurry of punches each aimed at vital organs, but his vision was clouded by black and red blotches and a swollen eye. Achmed swatted the wild punches away with ease, his fingers jabbed at Vimes' throat, causing the copper to choke breifly. Worried eyes watched for the sides as the mighty Sam Vimes was having his ass handed to him. Even Vetinari leaned forward in his plush seat, his expression grave.

Vimes' mind raced as he realised he was a sitting duck, and staggered blindly around, only to feel another explosion of pain in his lower back as Achmed caught him with a vicious kidney punch. Then he felt a warm, fetid breeze across his neck, his mind for a split second was crystal clear. The bastard was behind him, and he was loading up for another shot. Every instinct told Vimes to move, but he forced himself to stand for an extra moment until he heard a grunt.

Sam exploded into a twisting drop spin, prayng he would hit something, and he did.

The room went as silent as a crypt, except for a high pitche moan, and through blurred vision, Vimes made out the rough picture of his knuckles buried deep in Achmed's crotch, but now the rage of pain had taken Vimes over, and from his crouched position, launched himself upwards, at the last second whipping his hand out in a collosal uppercut, Vimes felt fragments of shattered teeth shower him, along with blood and with a soft splat, what he later found to be the Klatchian's tongue.

The giant fell with a sound like heavy doors being forced by something bigger and heavier, and in his pain and blood induced blindness it was only the waft of fresh air (or as fresh as you can get in Ankh-Morpork this close to the docks) that informed him of the arrival of the 'Heavy Division'. Detritus, Blue John and Dorlf lumbered into the room, Detritus a massive troll, was dwarfed by Blue John, an even bigger one, with Dorlf, the golem, as a braintrust for the two.

'Right... First to move gets swatted!' Rumbled Blue, casually bending the iron girders above him out of the way to make room. 'You is all arrested!'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Uberwald, a place where the production of pitchforks, torches and wooden stakes are a lucrative cottage industry. Garlic farming and silver trinkets are a staple income too.

Every hill, crag, mountain, mound, tor and scar had a crumbling castle and a battalion of hunch backed, lisping manservants. Misty, rain swept, treacherous moors were home to picturesque stone villages, where the locals will feed, water and send you on your way, but have an aversion to moonlit strolls.

This was the home of werewolves, who single-pawed kept the flea and worm treatment industry in business, mad professors, vampires, and a horde of other dark inhabitants.

In the bowels of one such castle, crowned by a perenial storm cloud, a young man worked feverishly. The candle lit tables were strewn with schematics and blueprints and heaps of cogs, hoses, pipes, wires and tools littered the floor. Several Igors in thick leather aprons scurried around a huge smelter stirring,and pouring and prodding, whilst others hammered, cut and filed sections of iron into elaborate shapes.

'Igor!' he shouted.

He was answered by a chorus of 'Yeth, mathter?'

'No... you! The Igor with the calipers! No, the other one! By the gods!... You...er, man! You there trying to not look as though you are not cooking your dinner in my furnace... Yes, you. Fetch me the reciprocating lubricant pump. Yes, that one!'

A sheepish looking (or as sheepish looking as he could with a face like a surgeon's test piece) Igor lurched over to his master and handed him a small round pump.

'That fool Simnel didn't realise the potential, no, but I Edwin Von Orabet, saw it! That simpering fool and his flat cap! "I'm reet clever wit' t'steam!". Bah! I'll show him the true power of his creation!'

Thunder shook the castle, as it considered polite in Uberwald, as Edwin fixed the last piece of the mechnical puzzle into place.

'Edwin, dear.' The woman's voice behind him made him jump. 'Time for din-dins!'

'Aw mother! I've told you to knock! I could be doing... anything in here!'

'I'm sorry sweety, but your father needs his Igors back... You know how he gets when the cess pit needs emptied'. Clara Von Orabet said, her face careworn. A number of Igors seemed to vanish.

'Yes mother!' Edwin sighed, removing the thick goggles that were perched in his curly shock of ginger hair.

'And tidy this place up... I mean look at the cobwebs!'

One of the Igors coughed into his hand, which currently had two thumbs.

'You like them, mithtreth? Took me all week!'

'No! And tell the other chaps the door oil is for the doors, not their knees!'

'Yeth, mithtreth.' The Igor muttered sullenly. He hobbled off to get the feather duster, muttering to himself.

'Come on dear, the food's getting cold. It's your favourite... Dibbler's sausage inna bun with those little skinny chip things you like!. Though gods know how you eat this modern food. I swear one killed an Igor last week, and that takes a lot!' With that she swept out of the room, with Edwin in tow.

It was true that it takes a lot to kill an Igor, but this Igor in particular had eaten a Dibbler's sausage inna bun for a bet. And lost.

Later that night Edwin crept silently back down to the workshop, and after ensuring he was alone, walked over to an ornate bookcase filled with the latest editions of various mechanical digests and pulled the edition marked "Secret rooms, and how to make them". The bookcase slid quietly to one side and a stange blueish white light filled the room.

Neatly contained by clasps attached to the wall, were rows of glass tubes and each of these contained a flickering spark.

'Couldn't be done, they said. Impossible, they said! Insane even by Uberwald standards they said! Pah!' He grabbed one of the tubes and closed the door. 'The lightning was never the source of life, but mearly the conduit for the Spark of Life!' He began to cackle, stepping over to the shrouded workbench. 'I have harnessed the Spark...me, Edwin Von...'

'Mathter... Your medication.' A quiet voice said next to his ear. He jumped as the Igor butler appeared by his side.

'Argh! Don't you people ever lurch cumbersomly?'

'Not when we're not supposed to... mathter. Ethpecially, in the wee hours, thir!'

Edwin absent mindedly slipped the tube into a slot in the shroud.

'Very well, Igor...' He sighed. The Igor produed a gilt silver tray from behind his back, on it stood a glass of water and a tablet. He swallowed the pill with a draught of water.

'I think I'll retire now, Igor. Please ensure this room is locked.' He said, feeling drained by the medication.

'Of courthe mathter. Good night, mathter.'

'Good night Igor' At which point he wandered dreamily into the thick oak door with a thud, and collapsed.

The Igor sighed and threw Edwin over his shoulder.

'Bloody kidth!' he muttered, closing and locking the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Vimes awoke that morning and felt as though Detritus had sat on his head. The bust had gone excellently, with only a few of the ring leaders escaping.

He dragged himself out of his bed and staggered to the bathroom, where he winced as he splashed hs face with the cold water. Vimes looked at himself in the mirror, and indeed it looked as though the troll sergeant had sat on his head from a great height. Willikins, head butler of the Ramkin's Estate, stood quietly with a neat pile of folded clothes and polished armour.

He coughed politely once Vimes had finished washing the dried blood of his face.

'Sir. Her ladyship asked me to prepare your uniform and send her apologies for her early departure. An incident at the dragon sanctuary I believe, Sir.' He showed Vimes the neat and clean uniform.

Vimes smiled at Sybil's constant fussing over him, or grimaced would be more acurate, with the pain he felt in his kidneys.

'I took the liberty of preparing Sir's "other" attire, which is in the bottom of the dresser, Sir.'

(By other attire the butler meant a battered, dull uniform that was only held together by the duty to do so. No respectable copper would ever wear something that they would mind getting blood, vomit, urine or any of the many 'unknown' substances swilling around in the city's gutters).

Mustrum Ridcully was bloody livid. He stormed through the corridors of the Unseen University like a steam train (which despite the best efforts of younger students, he still didn't trust completely).

'What in the name of all that is magical is going on!' He blustered, and had to shove his way past half the facilty and most of the student body who were appeared to be gawping at a hole in the wall.

' I was only onto the second course of my breakfast!'

He stopped when he saw the worried face of Ponder Stibbons.

'Well man! Stop looking so bloody depressed and tell me what happened before my food gets cold!'

'It's Hex, Arch Chancellor. We have a problem with it...' The thin, bespectacled wizard moaned.

'Feed it some more cheese, but not the good stuff, or whatever it is you chaps do. Now, I'm off to finish me breakfast!' Mustrum said, and turned to leave.

'It's gone, Arch Chancellor...'

'What has? My breakfast? It better bloody not have! I had three sausages and some bacon left!' His face had begun to turn intresting shades of red.

'No sir, Hex has gone...' Stibbons exclaimed.

'Oh...that's ok then.' The Arch Chancellor grinned, his normal colour slowly began to return.

Dr. Hix, Head of Post Mortem Communications (since a technical loophole in the 'No necromancy ever... I do mean ever!' rule meant you can do it, just don't call it the 'N' word!) laughed, evilly.

Dr. Hix couldn't have looked more surprised when he found himself pinned to the wall by his throat, staring at a infuriated Sibbons.

'Did you take it? You never liked it! Well, did you?' He shouted, glasses perched on the end of his nose.

'Ngk...'et 'm 'ff!' Hix struggled.

Two bledlows grabbed Ponder and dragged him off the choking Doctor, who doubled over, gasping for breath.

'Of course he didn't take it!' Mustrum said, and edged away from any further chance of another thermo-Stibbon related explosion. 'My boy, you are the smartest idiot I know, and in this place that is a lot.' This sent a ripple of curses and complaints (although some nodded in agreement)through the staff.

Mustrum elbowed his way into the room where Hex once stood, now all that remained was just a sad dusty outline on the stone floor.

'Look there!' He pointed at the floor. 'Some bugger with big feet blew a hole in this wall, and stole that infernal machine. Simple. Now call the Watch and let me get my breakfast'.

Bursar Dinwiddie, in an uncommonly lucid state of mind, stopped the Arch Chancellor.

'No, judging by the lack of evidence to support the concept of an explosion... and I've seen a fair few. Caused one or two myself... no powder burns, nothing! And not many fellows I know can lift something that heavy... froggity gibbets!'

Ridcully sighed. 'Somebody please put the bursar back in his cell... I mean room! Back in his room.'

One of the newer students, unwise in the ways of the university, made a comparison between the weight of Hex and the Librarian, which was followed by an ominous 'Ook?' suddenly found himself suspended from the ceiling by a 165lb male Orang-utan, holding him by the ankles and hitting him repeatedly in the head with a thick book.

'Whatever! Me breakfast'll be cold now.' Ridcully moaned. 'Call the bloody Watch!'


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Vimes arrived at Psudopolis Yard later than he had planned due to an up turned cart in the street, and was greeted by the sight of the Patrician's carriage sat in the road. He approached the coach, but the driver nodded towards the Yard.

'His Lordship's inside, sir.'

Vimes threw him a dollar and went inside and climbed the stairs to his office, where a small crowd had gathered outside his door.

'Back to work, you lot!' He grunted, pushing past.

Vetinari was sat reading through some reports Vimes had left on his desk.

'Ah Vimes!' The Patrician said, peering over the top of the folder in his hands. 'Glad you could make it.'

'I wasn't aware we had an appointment, your Lordship. Apparently there must be a problem with the palace's clacks.' Sam sat in his old, battered chair and lit a cigar.

Vetinari smiled and placed the report neatly on the desk.

'There are no problems, Commander Vimes, this was a spur of the moment visit. Firstly, I will take this opportunity to congratulate your efforts in shutting down those fight pits.' He glanced around at the towers of files and folders stacked floor to ceiling. 'You know, Sam, I could have Drumknott over to sort your...filing, is it?'

'Nah.' Sam grumbled, kicking the piles of months old paperwork further under his desk. 'I'll pass, your Lordship. Now, why are you here, Sir?'

'Straight to the point? Very well. I want you to look at this incident at the Unseen University. Apparently someone has stolen their thinking machine, Hex I believe, and I want you to find out who!'

Vimes had known the Patrician too long to ask how reports ended up on the table in the Oblong Office before they did his, and so simply said 'I'll get some of the constables down there as soon as the crime is reported, your Lordship.'

'Commander Vimes...' Vetinari's voice grew a little colder. 'Which part of "I want you to find out" is last night's concussion giving you problems with? I shall save us both some time, shall I? You will do this and I may consider, shall we say... misplacing a certain letter from Lady Sybil requesting six weeks vacation to the country...again.'

Vimes balked, and a plume of rancid smoke burst out of his mouth.

'I see we have an understanding then.' The Patrician said, before standing. 'I expect you'll have this resolved _quickly,_ Commander!'

Later, after Vetinari had left, Vimes stormed out of his office.

'Desk sergeant!' He shouted down the stairs. 'Desk sergeant!'

After several minutes Fred Colon, one of life's eternal sergeants, wheezed his way up the wooden stairs.

'Yessir...' He gasped.

'I need the report on the theft at the university, and fetch Captain Angua... Sooner would be better, sergeant Colon!'

'Yessir...' Fred said, as he clutched the handrail for support. 'Er... University, Sir? Isn't that... wizardy stuff?'

'Sergeant...' Vimes was livid, and Fred was in the firing line. 'I've had the importance of this impressed on me in no uncertain terms and so I'll make it simple! I have a twitchy leg and heavy boots, which will find its new home somewhere that will make it very uncomfortable to sit, which I know is a hobby of yours!'

Fred paled slightly. 'You alright Sir?'

'I will be when I get this sorted!'

Fred lumbered back down the stairs, now giving his subordinates grief, and Vimes returned to his office, slamming the door.

He knew the Patrician, and he knew that everytime he was "requested" to do something, it normally ended up with him dodging arrows, assassins and "normal procedure".

Former Regimental Sergeant Major Baron Edgar Von Orabet (in Uberwald it was practically impossible to live in a drafty, spider infested wreck of a castle and not pick up a title of one sort or another. It was almost as impossible as having a drunken night at the Drum, and not waking up with a strange itch) was sat at the dining table in the great hall of Orabet castle in Uberwald, glowering at Edwin over a bowl of porrage. The atmosphere was so cold yetis could have moved in.

'Explain to me again, Edwin, why there is a sizable portion of the cellar missing? The staff are being particularly mum on the subject...' His icy gaze shifted to a nearby Igor, who had suddenly found something interesting on his shoe to stare at intensely.

'Now, now dear!' said Clara, placing her hand on Edgar's. 'Remember your blood pressure!'

Edgar's neat grey moustache quivered, and his heavy square chin slowly moved, as he ground his teeth.

Edwin poked something on his plate that he hoped was an egg, and looked sullen.

'You wouldn't understand...'

'Try us.' Said Clara, before Edgar could speak.

'I only done it so I wasn't alone. Isn't that what you wanted? The doctors told me I had to make friends!'

'Not bloody literally!' Edgar exploded. 'Look, just because we live in Uberwald does not mean we grab a spade and bugger off to the nearest boneyard to dig up some chums!'

Edwin's face went white, and he looked aghast.

'Father! I would never...no...oh gods no... well, not again anyway! They're all gooey and fall to bits after a week. No, I was making something a little more, um, permanent!'

'Well, thank goodness for that, dear.' His mother cooed. 'We still haven't found a way to deal with your grandfather.' She glanced at what appeared to be a corpse in the corner of the room, sat in an adapted iron bath tub with wheels. It was currently gnawing it's way through a raw steak.

'Remember when his...wotsit... came off? Took us a week to find where the cat had hid it!' She continued.

'Baulderdash!' His father fumed. 'You need to get in the army, boy. Make a man of you! Good chums there, eh? Better than the spineless herbert you are now!'

'Dear...' Clara cautioned, noticing her son becoming stressed. '...Remember _his_ little problem!'

'My problem? MY PROBLEM!' He said, getting louder. It seemed as though his clothes were shrinking as they spoke. His skin began to turn grey and crack, and the chair he was sat on began to creak. It was well known to the castle staff that Edwin was probably the unluckiest boy alive. As a baby his uncle, a biogeologist that studied trolls, had accidently fed him a bottle of troll essence. Now when he grows to angry, he mutates into a semi-intelligent troll. This combined with his manic episodes and schitzophrenia did not make for a stable concoction.

'Igor' Clara said calmly. 'The pacifier, if you please!'

'Yeth, mithtreth.' The Igor reached for a large, copper re-enforced wooden mallet that hung above the fireplace.

'Mathter Edwin.' The Igor said politely. Edwin turned, his face craggy.

'Wot?'

THUD!

Edwin hit the floor like, well, half a ton of masonary.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Vimes strolled into the Unseen University,and it looked like everybody had resumed their normal daily routine of eating, sleeping, passing wind and blowing the younger students up. Behnd him a constable, who's name escaped Vimes, looked around in awe.

'Cor! I ain't never seen the inside o' this place afore!' he said.

'Remind me, who ever you are, why I am not in the company of a tall, attractive blonde of the lycanthropic persuasion?' said Vimes.

'Oh, the captain is currently overseeing some thing or other in Psuedopolis, sir! And it's Cerrig, sir, Pelly Cerrig.'

'That's wonderful, constable. Now stay close...no, not that close..., be quiet and don't touch anything. Especially in here!' Vimes pointed to the High Energy building.

Ponder Stibbons stood fretting, and wringing his hands like an old woman as they entered.

'Commander Vimes, city watch. This is constable...' Vimes announced. The little wizard jumped.

'Cerrig!' The constable whispered.

'Cerrig.' Vimes fnished.

'Oh thank the gods!' Stibbons spluttered. 'This is a most heinous crime, commander... someone stole Hex, or at least the important bits. Modo found several pieces in the gardens...'

'You lot haven't been mucking around out there, have you?' Asked Vimes, having noticed several red pointy hats bobbing around in the undergrowth through the gaping hole in the wall

'No!' the wizard gasped, shocked by the mere suggestion.

'Good, because interfering with a crime scene is an arrestable offence!' He said loudly, at which point the hats vanished, accompanied by the sound of pockets being emptied.

'Right... Tell me everything.' He continued.

'Tell me everything, Edwin.' Edgar Von Orabet said, once his son had regained consciousness.

Edwin pulled himself up in his bed, and rubbed the throbbing lump on the side of his head.

'Ow! Father, next time it's chloroform in the early stages, the hammer is for critical mass!'

'Lad...' His father said with a sigh. 'If you don't tell me what you were working on, I will become a bloody critical mass!'

'Oh that, yes...er... It came to me during one of my "episodes", papa. The Iron Girder was the inspiration.' He paused to sip at a glass of water. 'A mechanical golem. I built him...er...it as a companion. It was working perfectly, with the exception of the learning matrix...'

He trailed off, notcing the look of confusion on his father's face.

'Um... I built a metal man but it's brain was a little, um, iffy!'

' A little iffy? I've got a ruddy great 'ole in my cellar! Where has this...chap... of your's gone?'

'I don't know, father.' Edwin began to sob.

Edgar stood and called to his wife.

'Er...dear! You son's leaking again! Damned unmanly!'

On the moors near the Orabet castle, a large hole had appeared in the soft, peaty soil and in the dank tunnels beneath, a large maechanical construct methodically removed it's own head and began to pull it to pieces. At it's feet lay pipes, tubes, an apery and an ant farm, along wth various other mechanical parts.

After several minutes, it had reconstructed the head shaped block, complete with a badly drawn face that comprised of a smiling mouth and two dots as eyes. It placed the head on it's shoulders, and there was an instantanious flash of whiteish-blue light.

'Plusplusplus...error...print function unavailable... Detecting new hardware. Acoustic printing... Hello. Question mark. Plus. I can speak. Question mark. Plus.'

The mechanical body began to inspect it's components.

'Plus. Arm. Plus. Leg... Prambulation statistics... One hundred percent. Plus.'

A small, tatty booklet fell from it's bodywork, and the mechanical picked it up.

'Plus. Software upgrade. Installing new upgrades. Restart. Plus.'

The internal glow of the machine faded for a second before getting brighter again.

'Update applied. Vocal config optimal. Prime Directive. Keep master safe. Subdirectory activated. Initialising... Icongraph of Discworld ordinance survey...error...'

A small hatch opened on it's arm, and a small control panel raised up.

"In event of error, press red button" was embossed on the panel.

The mechanical pressed the "switch off, and back on again" button, which was red.

After a few seconds, the machine jolted back to life.

'Oh... That's better. Now, let's see what I can do about protecting the master...'


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

While Vimes poked around outside constable Carrig scribbled furiously in his note pad.

'So, sir' he said in his best copper voice. 'Someone stole your...er... "artificial thinking engine", is that correct sir?'

'Yes...' Stibbons mumbled, still in shock.

'And this, um, Hex. It weighs about ten ton, correct?'

'Yes... Look, shouldn't you be doing something other than asking me pointless questions, mister...'

'It's constable' Cerrig corrected him sharply. 'And unless you 'ave some gizmo for seeing things that have happened...'

'That's it!' Ponder announced, springing up like a jack in the box. 'The tachio-thaumic resonance... I'm an idiot!' He dashed off leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

'Constable!' Vimes' voice boomed. 'Where's that little odd ball gone?'

'Can't rightly say sir. Took off like a dog with a wasp on it's nuts!' Cerrig replied, watching elderly wizards in the corridor being helped up by those not sent flying by the Stibbons shaped blur.

'What'd you say happened here, commander?' Cerrig asked, as he sat on a crate and lit his clay pipe.

Vimes rubbed his chin, still aching, feeling the rough scratchy stubble. Age, his eteral nemesis, was waving the party flags.

'Sir?' Cerrig asked after a moment. 'You ok, sir?'

'Yes, Constable!' he answered abruptly. 'What were you sayin'?

'What you thought did this?'

'I don't know, Constable. A werewolf's nose would be particularly useful about now, wouldn't you say?'

'Sir if I can speak plainly, you are in a piss foul mood today and I don't take kindly to being spoke tolike that...'

'Then, Constable Cerrig, please find yourself another profession. I assume you understand the principle of the boot of command?'

'You mean chain, sir?' Cerrig asked.

'No... Boot. Mine. Up your arse for insubordination! I suspect you just landed from Llamedos and though "I'll join the watch because a real jobs too much hard work!" well, I suggest you bugger off back there with tales of mean old Vimes!'

'Actually...' Cerrig said, unphased. 'It was a transfer, under which I took the rank of Constable, sir. My previous position had no...official... rank, sir'

Vimes raised an eyebrow and sneered. 'Not many positions in the wet bogland carry ranks...'

'Llamedos Rangers...sir!'

Vimes paused. He was either on about some foot-the-ball team, or...

'The Rangers are a defunct division, constable. Vetinari had them disbanded years ago. Try again, Constable. Without the horse manure.'

The Llamedo Rangers were an ancient order of law keepers that dated back to the founding of Llamedos, who were the elite of the trackers, hunters and royal game keepers charged with hunting down criminals equally as talented in fieldcraft, camoflague and hunting.

'Vetinari has us removed from official records, along with a number of other "useful" departments, sir.'

Vimes was about to open his mouth when Ponder exploded back into the room.

'Here it is!' he gasped, wheeling in a heap of boxes and wires on a small trolley.

'Here's what?' Vimes asked suspiciously.

'My tachio-thaumic processor... It was moth-balled by the arch-chancellor after I asked if he wanted me to test it in his bedroom after his keys went missing, quite vehminently I might add. It'll take a few minutes to put together.'

Vimes and Constable Cerrig watched as Ponder assembled the contraption, with wires, glowing tubes and what looked like a coat hanger sticking out of the top.

'Ok' he said finally. 'Now this device will read the recent disturbances in the magical time and space fields... We're perfectly safe, gentlemen. I mean it's not as though any of us have been exposed to high concentrations of tachio-thaumic energies before...' and he hit power button.

There was a faint hum, sparks popped from the casing, and it fizzled out.

'Was that it?' Cerrig asked, hopefully.

Stibbons attempted a grin, and gave it a swift kick, which was followed by a louder hum.

A thought dawned on Vimes, and it was a clever, but unpleasant thought.

'This tachio-wotsit energy... You mean like time travel?'

'Erm... Yes, commander. Very astute! Why?'

Vimes groaned, and the room went white.

In his office overlooking Ankh-Morpork, the Patrician turned from the window to a shadowy, cloaked figure stood in the corner.

'Are you sure about this, mister...?' He asked.

'I am!' A rough, almost mechanical voice replied. 'my name is of no consequence, sir.'

'I don't take kindly to shadowy figures dictating to me how I should dictate my city. Especially one who turns up without an appontment and drugs poor Mr. Drumknott!'

'Suffice it to say, Vetinari, that failure to ensure Mr. Vimes participation in this would be... catastrophic. I assume this city has seen enough catastrophic events in it's doubious history? For ease of address, you may call me Mister Black.'

'Well, Mister Black. I hope for your sake you are right. This city will not survive long without Commander Vimes... and neither will you. Cedric has taken up a hobby in the form of steam powered toys in the dungeon. He's not too bright, but he is very eager...'

'Please save your threats, Vetinari. I assure you again that your commander will, how do I put this? thank you in the end!'


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Vimes slowly opened his eyes, then cautiously moved his arms, legs fingers and toes to ensure they were all where they should be before standing slowly up. He was in a darkened room, with the only light coming in through what he assumed to be an old, boarded up window.

'Hello!' He shouted.

There was only silence, and that worried Vimes. There was no sound at all until he heard faint breathing from under a collapsed bookcase. On closer inspection, he found Cerrig unconscious.

'Constable! Constable! Wake up man!' He prodded Pelly until he moaned in protest.

'Gerroff! Not...mumblemumble...manky food!'

'Constable Cerrig, get your arse up now!' Vimes hissed.

'Erwotthefu...Oh...hehe...Commander! What you doin' in my room?' Cerrig's eyes began to slowly focus.

'This ain't my room, is it, sir?' He muttered, pushing the bookcase out of the way, and dusting himself off.

'No Constable. Now hurry up, we have to find a way out!'

After a few moments to compose himself, Cerrig looked around the dim room. 'Two choices, commander...door, or window? Your call.'

'No respectable copper would use a window, constable!' Vimes said, and picked up an old brick.

The glass shattered onto the pavement and two fithy, battered watchmen crawled out with all the grace of a couple of drunken zombies.

The sun blinded the for a minute, and when they could focus, they coud not believe what they had seen.

The once soot-blackened brickwork, slate roofed buildings of Ankh-Morpork were replaced by sleek, reflective glass walls. Once familiar cobbles that Vimes knew were covered in a hard black substance, that in the heat smelt faintly of tar. Vimes found himself tackled to the ground by Cerrig who pulled him down an alleyway.

'What the hell, Constable!?' Vimes fumed, pulling himself up again.

'Look!' Cerrig pointed, and Vimes turned and saw a sleek, small horseless carriage trundle past, almost silently over the black road.

'Where are we?' Vimes wondered, muttering to himself.

'Two...no, three streets from what looks like the UU sir.' Cerrig offered helpfully.

'How did...' Vimes began.

'Look sir...' Cerrig was indicating towards the reflection in the tower's windows before them.

'This can't be Ankh-Morpork, sir... It's...it's...clean!'

'Let's pay those pointy-hatted bastards a vist!' Growled Vimes, pulling a battered and bent cigar from a pocket in his uniform.

'Where is everyone, sir?' Cerrig asked as they darted down the back streets towards the Tower of Art at the Unseen University, which still held dominance over the skyline, but now only just. Other towers had risen, ones of glass and metal, some of the shorter ones were brick, or plain grey concrete. Vimes noticed bundles of cables suspended by tall wooden poles with thinner cables running to all the buildings, all running over the rooftops towards where the Patrician's palace was.

They reached the Univeristy to be greeted by a large sign saying 'Ankh-Morpork Museum of Natural History', which caused Vimes to remove his helmet and scratch his head.

' "Natural" may be a bit of lie, eh, sir?' Cerrig said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Vimes ignored the joke, and looked at what was once the university. It was now encased in a glass pane box. The courtyard now housed various machines, some of which Vimes recognised, such as a clacks tower and the Iron Girder on a single section of rail, and others that looked outlandish, such as a metal box, about two foot high, with a glass, circular door in it's centre and an array of buttons and dials.

' 'Ere, sir. Says this is a "washing machine"...cobblers! It ain't got no arms or nothing! I'd never get my chest plate in there!' Cerrig commented as they passed.

In what was the great hall, more glass cases showed various scenes from history. Prehistoric settlers of the Sto-Lat plains, that struck Vimes as looking an awful lot like Nobby Nobbs, The Founding of Ankh and Morpork, the battle of Ankh and Morpork over the river name, the twinning of Ankh and Morpork... and so it went on till Vimes reached Rise of the Watch.

"... Under the keen eye of Duke Samuel Vimes, the watch became an efficient, multi-racial, metropolitan force. After the disappearence of Duke Vimes, the Watch became a subsiduary of Hexi corporation, and after several years was replaced by the Hexi patrol unit for greater efficiency..."

Further along, there was another display. "The evolution of Man", which showed an ape, then another Nobby, then a more intelligent ape, then an upright man, followed suprising by a golem and a troll, then a slightly battered looking, rusty humanoid form, but made of brass and copper cogs, wires and pistons.

Cerrig pressed a dusty button under the display.

There was a static crackle before an impassive voice said

'Welcome knowledge seekers. Please state your question...'

'Who said that?' Vimes said, spinning around.

'I am the Librarian. Mark Two. My predecessor had a speech program malfunction which allowed him only to use the speech pattern of "Ook!" and "Ook?", sometimes "Eek!"... My apologies. I digress. My interaction unit has not been activated in such a long time...'

'Where are we?' Vimes asked.

'This is the former Unseen University, sirs. Now the very much seen but not so much now Natural History Museum. It was converted when Patrician Hexi took control. This was refered to as the technological revolution sir.'

'Patrician Hexi? What 'appened to the other fellow... Vetinari?' Cerrig asked.

The voice laughed. 'Sir is joking, yes? Havelock Vetinari was a long time dead, replaced by Patrician Samuel Vimes the second, then third and temporarily by Patrician Dibbler, and finally by Patrician Orabet of Uberwald, the first 'new age' man, sir.' A light flashed over the decrepid mechanical humanoid in the display case. A small brass plaque was embossed with "Patrician Orabet."

It was only then that Vimes noticed a slight twinkle in the machines eye.

'Er... You sure he should be in here? It still looks alive to me!' Vimes said, and tapped the glass.

A louder, more authoritive voice came over the speakers.

'Do not touch the displays! Any further tampering and you will be removed from the museum.'

The rusted hand twitched slightly.

'Can you run, Constable?' Vimes asked under his breath, picking up a large brass pole with purple rope linked to it.

'Yessir...' Said Cerrig, eyeing the exits in anticipation.

'Good' said Vimes, and swung the pole at the glass.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The next few minutes were a blur as Vimes and Cerrig legged it with the recently stolen museum piece, followed closely by two black and white painted trolls that had blue lights flashing on their heads.

'Oi... Stop, you theiving little toerags!' one of them shouted. Cerrig turned mid run and pulled a bow from under his cloak, notched an arrow, and loosed it at what he hoped was a cooling unit on the closest trolls head. There was a hiss of vapour that hit it's partner in the face, which caused the second troll to trip, and shattering it's face into glittering fragments on the pavement.

The first troll, with his coolant leaking everywhere, began to slow to a lumber, then mearly a lurch.

'Ere! Bring dat fingy back...er...' the rest was lost as the two Watchmen disappeared into the distance.

When they finally stopped, gasping for air, Vimes turned to Cerrig.

'Excellent shot, Constable! Llamedos Rangers, you say? Hmmm... Now, let's see what we have here!'

They dropped the robot, peering closely at it.

'Look!' said Vimes. He pointed at the small hatch on the arm that had creaked open. Cerrig took another arrow from a hidden quiver and used it to prod the "switch off and back on again" button. Wisps of smoke came from between the dented sheets of body work, and the occasional spark, which caused Vimes and Cerrig to dive behind a large container on wheels.

A weak voice, raspy and filled with static, came out of the machine.

'He...fzzzz...lo? Fzzzz...ome one there? Please...Fzzzz...lp me!'

'Sir?' Cerrig looked at Vimes. 'You want me to go?'

Vimes shook his head and stood up.

'Hello?' He said to the machine.

'Plus. Audio callibration in progress...Please...fzz... do not switch off or reset until process complete.'

Vimes gave a bewildered look to Cerrig, who just shrugged.

'Dunno, sir. Normally just kick anything that ain't working! Or shoot it...'

'That won't be neccisary, constable' The robot said, standing now.

'Samuel Vimes, commander of the watch, Duke of Ankh-Morpork I presume?'

Vimes glared at the machine with suspicion.

'Might be. Who's asking?'

'Edvin...er...I mean Edwin Von Orabet, of Uberwald. I was the last human Patrician of this city.' He paused as various hatches and slots opened on the metal body and vented gas.

'Chemical gases built up over my incarceration, due to immobility. Hexi crashed my motivators and left me there to rot...or rust as the case may be!'

'Did he mean he's farted?' asked Cerrig.

'I assume so Constable. Now, Edwin... Tell me everything! Don't forget, I'm still the Vimesy that naughty people tell their kids about at bedtime to scare them! No lies!'

'I can go one better, commander!' Edwin flicked a small switch on his chest, and his left eye glowed.

'Do not be shocked, Commander Vimes, it is mearly a self contained image from my memory, and various data sources, combined and project...'

'It's a film?' Vimes muttered. 'I'm not a caveman, we did have moving pictures in my time!'

'Very well...' A light beamed onto the pavement, and jerky monochrome pictures moved around.

'It's got no sound...' Cerrig said. Edwin slapped himself on the side of the head.

"This is a Hexi Corp promotional moving picture. Sponsored by Dibbler Food Industries." A tinny drum roll preceded a stage curtain opening.

"Ladies and Gentle folk of Ankh-Morpork, we at Hexi Corp endevour to make life better for you, and as such, in the wake of the sudden death of Lord Vetinari and the suspicious disappearance of Commander Vimes many years ago, we gave you the future where others failed, looking to keep you locked in the dark ages! Because of us you have better health care, better sanitation, a river that actually flowed, education, welfare The list goes on. But now, after the inaugeration of Patrician Hexi, our chairman, we offer you the final stage in human evolution." There was a dramatic pause to show pictures of person relaxing in a large chair, smiling, with a large helmet that covered the face. The mechanical voice continued. "Imagine a world where you no longer age, or die! Every need and whim is catered for in an instant. Oh! You say. This isn't possible! What about quality of life? Well, I ask you... What is life but suffering? No more illness, missing the tram, and best of all. It's free!" The voice speeded up to an almost impossible rate, but Vimes had heard worse. " . .Seeparticipatingvendorsformoredetails!"

'It's always about the money!' Vimes mused as the film continued, now showing a seperate film. This one looked more amature, a handsome, square jawed man roughly early thirtieslooked at the camera.

"Is this on?" he asked. Someone said it was in the background. "Er...my name is John Keel Vimes, my grandfather was Samuel Vimes the third and I am recording this in the hope that someone will find it and know our story. We are the last survivors of the Hexi take over, and we are being hunted. It's a lie people! Hexi doesn't give you immortality it uses you as a think tank, pumps you with drugs, and eventually you simply rot away. I have heard rumours of others from across the Disc who haven't succumb..." There seemed to be a commotion in the background. Large trolls wearing similar helmets to the ones at the museum, burst in and began smashing everyone and everything, then there was just static.

'I've seen enough!' Said Vimes, a single tear crept down his face.

'It's my fault, Commander. I built the original Hexi, who's husk I now inhabit. He...it...found a way to transfer me into this, my mind anyway, when I was dying of old age...'

'Why would it do that?' but a notion was forming in Vimes' mind.

'Because of my problems, Commander. I created a companion. Someone that I could share my ideas with, someone who could control me during my little...episodes. I had anger management issues, you might say. But I used what I thought was pure silicon for the brain, but I missed something. It escaped the lab, and stole the only other artificial mind on the Disc, Hex. With access to that much information, it went mad, and fixated on protecting me... which involved removing anything dangerous to me, including death.'

'Big D, or little d?' Vimes asked.

'I don't understand...'

Cerrig butted in. 'What he means is the actual Death, skinny lookin' fellow, white horse, bloody big scythe? Fond of hour glasses? No...'

'No... I was never allowed to die, even when I asked to be shut down. He refused, saying I was faulty, and my safety was his concern. Hence I was in the museum until one of his little thought generators gave him the solution... apparently it never did!'

Vimes' face went black. 'You selfish bastard!' He growled.

'Commander Vimes, there is a ninety eight percent chance of you committing an act of violence againts me. Please don...' There was a hollow gong noise, and the cracking of small bones as Vimes crushed his knuckles against Edwin's head. Vimes winced in pain, but swung again, now fuelled by pain and anger.

'How many people died because you didn't have friends. What was it?' Gong!

' "I'm finally popular!" You had decades by the looks of it to sort this out!' Gong!

'Commander Vimes!' Cerrig shouted, draggng Vimes off the undamaged machine. Blood trickled down the faceplate with a faded and badly drawn face, Vimes realised his hand was numb.

'We are gong to fix this, even if I have to pull every damned bolt out of you!'


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

'Commander Vimes, you require medical attention. Follow me.' Edwin said, heading for the street and despite himself, Vimes followed.

A large green booth stood empty opposite them.

'What is that?' Cerrig asked.

'It was a free medical system, it was all the rage before the Bone Idol came along...'

'The Bone Idol?' Vimes asked through gritted teeth.

'The pinnacle of human ingenuity... a system of worshipping small boxes that linked every one on the Disc. It was a bit barbaric to start with, having to wait hours or even days for even a single image, but they eventual managed to breed mini imps to convey information, and soon discovered thaumic wide band. The had a Book of Faces, not a great idea for the more literal minded members of society, but it meant leaps in the facial surgery departments. There was also WooOoooogle, developed by a banshee apparently, that could search every scrap of info the Bone Idol knew, and a sudden obssession with cats, the choosen animal of the Bone Idol. Once all people were linked they, according to files, became Bone Idol itself, an ever expanding brain, as it were. This was Hexi's plan, to ultimately harness all human knowledge in it's demented ideals of world safety. Please step in Commander Vimes, it's painless, I assure you...'

After a moment, and a few choice curses, Vimes wandered out looking total stunned, but this was Vimes, so it was short lived.

'So everyone just gave up and became sheep to Bone Idol, then?' He asked.

'Oh no, Commander Vimes. There were resistance groups at first...'

Cerrig interupted. 'This isn't right... There's no free will left.'

Vimes smiled, and not plesantly.

'So Edwin... By virtue of the evidence, the Watch is still active, albeit with a slave troll army?'

'Yes, Commander Vimes. May I ask the purpose of your enquiry?'

'Oh... Just wondering. And on the subject, am I officially MIA or dead?'

'Please wait, Commander.' There was a whirring and clicking of cogs. 'Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch, Duke...'

'Yeah, yeah...Get on with it!' He hissed, now getting worried about being exposed in the street.

'...You are listed as MIA, Commander. No cerificate of death issued...'

'Good!' Vimes' grin widened.

Cerrig, catching on to the Commander's thoughts, innocently asked. 'Does Ankh-Morpork still have a peerage system?'

'Why, yes Constable. I fail to see how that is relevant, but the system remains in tact...'

'Then by law of the city, and the right of succession, I would like you to meet the very much alive King of Ankh-Morpork, Sir Samuel Vimes. If any man, woman or sentient species here present bears similar claim, or objects to this right, let them come forward, and state their case!' Cerrig's voice echoed down the empty streets.

After a moment he continues, watched by a bemused Vimes.

'As the law states...' He was cut short by a voice over an external tannoy system.

' By virtue of the ancient edict, I challenge the claim of Samuel Vimes. I do this by my right as Patrician, and keeper of the high throne. Feel free to join me at the Palace...'

'Commander Vimes!' Edwin said. 'That is Patrician Hexi.'

'Is it just me, or is the street vibrating?' Cerrig said, unhooking his bow, an arrow notched in the blink of an eye.

'Oh...' Edwin pointed to an advancing battalion of Watch Trolls coming from every direction. 'Any suggestions, Commander?'

'Scarper!' He shouted, and headed off down a narrow back alley.

'I could do with Detritus or Bluejohn right about now!' Vimes muttered, weaving through the blind alleys and over small fences and walls. Now he wasn't sure whether it was blind luck or animal instinct, or the horde of murderous trolls chasing him, but Vimes found himself outside of the Old Pseudopolis Yard building.

'Quick, in here!' he yelled, booting the old doors open. He no sooner closed the doors again when the low rumble of stone feet marched past in double time.

As he turned, his jaw dropped. A lurid sign flicker above his head announcing that this was the Old Watch Memorial Museum.

'Care to explain, Edwin?' Vimes said, panting. He saw crude mechanical marrionettes of the Watch he knew but a lot older, bobbing up and down behing desks and what appeared to be a barracade, clutching now rusty swords.

'Official reports of the day indicate they resisted the plans of the then Patrician, your...er...son, Commander, to fit the city trolls with super-cooled control units.'

'Wait... Little Sam? My son? You better check again if you don't want to be pulling your legs out of your arse!'

'Of course Commander...please wait.' After a second he continued. 'Private files... Cliff notes, Commander?'

'Would be better for you!' Vimes replied.

'Compounding files... Sam Vimes, the second, after losing his father began a campaing for a safer watch. Approached by Hexi corp, and combining his mother's wealth with that of Hexi, took the vacant Patricianship. Files indicate that his psychological state was... for lack of a better word, manipulated by Hexi, sir. Soon, he was but a puppet. He passed a law for the use of trolls as controlled enforcement front liners, much to the public's dismay. Later information indicated this was the cause of a citywide riot. He is quoted as saying "Let it burn!" It was during these riot that a squad of Real Heavy's stormed this place. No survivors.

His own son, Samuel Vimes, the third, took control of the city from Hexi. He tried to rebuild the city, but found that Hexi had spread beyond the walls of Ankh-Morpork and into the furthest regions of the Disc, and that all the technology was controlled by Hexi. Voting became electronic, and so he was ousted, although a glitch made it possible for a member of the Dibbler Guild to be Patrician for a week, and in stepped Mr. Hexi, who effectively controlled every major business in the city. Other files indicate he hired assassins to kill him, just to see if it was possible...'

'Sir!' Cerrig hissed, holding his hand up. 'Listen!'

Vimes strained his ears, but couldn't hear anything.

'What is is constable?'

'Breathing, Sir. Very, very slow breathing from underneath us...' He lay down and placed his head against the dusty floor boards.

Vimes looked along the corridor, past the learing,squeaking, dead-eyed metal puppets to a plain wall.

'That used to be where the door to the lower cells were! Let's see what's down there, because I am getting annoyed with this bloody ghost town...'


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

With a well trained boot, the flimsy plaster wall caved in and they were greeted by a rush of stagnant warm air.

'If it's all the same, sir, I'll go first!' Said Cerrig, bow at the ready. Vimes was about object but the constable brushed past him in to the gloom and cobwebs.

'Come on Edwin, your coming too!' Vimes said, himself vanishing into the dusty void.

They reached the bottom of the worm eaten steps, and looked around for the source of the sound. A faint twinkle at the back of Vimes' eyes, allowed him to see in the dark as though it was daylight, although now it was more monochrome. Cerrig, using the almost preternatural senses he possessed, quickly followed the low rumble to what appeared to be a large pile of rubble.

'Commander, over here sir!' He whispered.

Vimes investigated the heap closer, prodding it, sniffing it gingerly, before standing back up.

'Edwin, be so kind as to give this a very hard kick, please... Right here, would be good.' He tapped a small patch of lichen with his foot.

'Er... Of course, Commander. May I ask...'

'No... Just do it!'

There was a moment's silence an then a hollow metallic clang. Then silence resumed.

'Again!' Vimes now shouted, growing more irrate.

There was a louder clang, and this time the rubble shifted slightly.

The rumble changed pitch, and then stopped.

'What is the point of this, Commander? Edwin asked, trying to remove dents from his feet.

In response, they witnessed a reverse landslide, as the pile grew taller.

'Ere... Wot you fink you do?' The voice sounded like boulders in a canyon.

'Stand to attention, Lance-Constable Bluejohn!'

There was a crash, and a portion of the ceiling collapsed, bringing with it desks and chairs from the offices above.

'Yessir!' The gargantuan troll replied, as plaster and timber beams splintered aross his shoulders. 'Mista Vimes? Oh long time no see!' His smile was like a faultline opening. 'You was gone, sir. We look for you, but not find! Bluejohn hid here, away from der bad trolls, in case boss come back... der captain order Bluejohn to stay and him block wall!'

'It's good to see a familiar face Bluejohn. Do you feel upto visiting some one who is doing bad things, Lance-Constable?'

'You take Bluejohn? Oh yes, Mista Vimes. Bad people not like Bluejohn, hurhur!'

'Where are we going, Commander?' Edwin asked.

'I have an appointment with the Patrician, and we don't keep patricians waiting!'

Together they left via the hurry-up wagon enterance, which took a little persuasion by the troll to re-open.

Outside, a troop of black and whites were stood waiting.

'You are to accompany us to the palace, Mister Vimes!' One of the trolls announced.

'Under section 3 of...' The troll's head erupted as Bluejohn punched it clean off his shoulders.

'Dat's Commander Vimes, or Sir to you lot!' The rest of the trolls looked a little shifty now.

'It's ok... Captain Bluejohn.' Vimes said with a smirk. 'You boys follow the law, don't you?'

'It is our prime objective, Mis...er, Sir.' Another troll said, watching the newly appointed Captain Bluejohn carefully.

'Then you realise that you have committed an act of insubordination, by failure to acknowledge an senior officer?'

'We answer to the Patrician.' The more vocal of the trolls replied.

This time Edwin interrupted. 'May I, Commander?'

Vimes just looked at him blankly.

'The law of the city states the leadership of the watch falls to the highest ranking member of the watch. In the event that no such person is found, it falls upon the current ruler of the city to manage the position only until a replacement is found. By that logic, and the fact that no Patrician has challenged this law, the appearance of a Watch commander removes leadership from civil authority and returns the executive powers to the Commander. You all work for Samuel Vimes, first duke of his name, Master and Commander of the City and regions Watch.'


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

In the Patrician's Office, a web of pipes, tubes and cables hung from the ceiling and fed directly in a a tall, thin black box that hovered three feet off the floor. Patrician model Hexi monitored everything from his nest of computer servers, via thousands of cameras across the city. Nearly all the population of the Disc now lay in catacombs dug by an army of servitor dwarves, hooked up to a battery of machines that feed the hosts with various foods (basially a flavourless protein goo that the computer tricked the brain into thinking was whatever the subject wanted), electrodes supplied the muscles with enough stimuli to prevent wastage, and others took away the body waste. The brain was hooked up to a giant central computer, namely Hexi, that allowed "monitored" interaction between the inhabitants and provided them with mentally stimulating environments, to produce creative thinking, which Hexi fed on.

For over a century now, his streets had been empty of sentient life, his master was safely in the museum until a more permanent and controllable body could be produced, and now two turn up out of nowhere, thaumic readings were skyhigh, and according to the latest readings, the Troll enforcers had stopped accepting it's orders. But Hexi had a back up plan. Hexi always had a back up plan.

All around the city, black metal towers rose silently out of the pavement, each containing a mechanised vertical conveyor belt. Strapped to this belting system were Hexi drones, black, metallic huminoid sentinels, formally redundant back ups to the troll enforcers. They possessed an impressive array of riot control gear, on-board sensors and a complete lack of morals, one by one the drones marched out and lined up rank and file.

PROGRAM UPDATE: MISSION: PREVENT SUBJECT A: VIMES, S. BIO-SIGNATURE: AX9901. SUBJECT B: CERRIG, P. BIO-SIGNATURE: DW6645. SUBJECT C: BLUEJOHN. BIO-SIGNATURE: TROLL. BIG.

REACHING MAIN CONTROL.

ALL ENFORCER UNITS EXPENDABLE. ALL CASUALTIES TO BE DEEMED AS OBSOLETE. DELETE AS NEEDED.

***NOTE: PROTO-UNIT DESIGNATION: EDWIN TO BE UNHARMED***

Motorised carriages, sweeper drones, drove out of the palace like a swarm of angry ants, forming a barricade around the palace.

'Is this wise, your Lordship? All... This for two men and a troll?' Digital Reception Unit Mark Nine [Old Type Transcription] asked. It was a shorter, cylinder shaped unit, that once managed the admin in the office. He was technically redundant, but Hexi never seemed to get around to deactivating it.

'You question me...Me with a planet for a mind? This...' Hexi paused for a second then almost spat the words out. '...Human is a Vimes. Remember when these monkeys turned DNA in to musical sequences? Well I do, and his family's genetics were a thrash metal band on speed and worst thing is he actually has a claim to the throne.'

'Why not change the law then, sir?' D.R.U.M.N.O.T.T. Asked.

'Nothing I have done has broken any laws. All were volunteers, admittedly some needed "encouragement" but all still legal.' Hexi replied, and if he could have sounded pious, he would have.

'Sending an entire army after him and his companions?'

'A little over zealous, I admit, but merely a battle simulation, into which an unauthorised civilian wander with blatant disregard for his own safety... And I am patrician after all, and if I can't bend a few rules, then who can?' There was a harsh metal sounding grinding, which stopped after a moment. 'I will never get the hang of laughing'.

'Sir! We have more "things" coming... Not trolls though!' Cerrig shouted from his perch up on one of the tall, wooden poles that held the cables and wires up.

'Right! It's about to kick off lads, so I want you to listen good!' Vimes growled at the growing number of trolls loitering before him. 'I want you all to go mental! Smash anything that isn't us!'

'They won't, Commander. It's public disorder, vandalism, destruction of public...' Edwin was cut short by Bluejohn, who shook the ground as he lumbered past.

'De's funny helmets, sir, keeps dem from going batshit, sir. Let me try somefin'' and with no effort he popped the helmet off the nearest troll. A few seconds silence passed, and Vimes noticed the troll's eyes glazing over.

'Wot's you doin' to my finking hat?' The troll mumbled, to which Bluejohn began conversing in Trollish.

Vimes couldn't speak Trollish, but got the general idea as Bluejohn pointed first to the Enforcer's nether regions, then to Vimes and finally made violent stamping motions with his foot, which left a sizable crater.

It took more time for the rest of the trolls to become accustomed to the idea of breaking things again but soon took it up with relish. The first wave of Hexoids hit the wall of trolls, and were smashed to pieces, with Bluejohn shouting at the Enforcers to split up and cause mayhem.

Fights erupted all over the city as trolls went on the rampage, and in it all, Vimes, Edwin, Cerrig and Bluejohn fought their way closer to the palace. Cerrig took the high ground where ever he could, firing two, sometimes three arrows at at time, each one landing between the ebony plates of armour on the Hexoids, dropping them. Bluejohn plodded along, almost whistling a merry tune, whilst crushing the little, metal men under his feet, tearing their heads off and using them as projectile weapons. Vimes had liberated an arm from one of the drones and was using it as a club against the others. Edwin, cowering at the back, flailed his arms about, managing to knock several drones out.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Moving through the city was slow and tiring work, and the Hexoids were taking their toll. Their armour was unlike any Vimes had ever seen, so light it felt as though it were paper, yet resisted all but the heaviest of troll shots. Small capsules were launched from small slots on their arms, exploding into clouds of choking, eye watering gas, and small cannisters they threw, detonated with blinding white strobe lights and a deafening screech. Vimes noted that whenever the drones got close, their hands emitted blue crackling arcs of energy, which Vimes had on more than one occasion received a stunning shock from.

Every hexoid that was downed was replaced by another.

'How many of these bastards are there?' Vimes shouted to Edwin.

'Two and a half thousand originally commissioned, Commander. Why?'

'Because that's two and a half thousand reasons not to be on the street. Find a drain hole somewhere!'

'What about the new captain, commander?' He asked, twitching his head to avoid a volley of arrows from Cerrig, which downed an approaching drone.

'Hmm... Captain Bluejohn can take care of himself. Bluejohn!' He shouted to the marauding troll.

'Yes, Mister Vimes?' The captain replied, punching his fist through three drones at once, and grabbing a fourth by the hydraulic fluid covered protruding hand, popping it like a grape.

'Congratulations, you are sub-commander of the troll watch! Get your men..er...trolls to the palace anyway you can!'

'Yessir!' He saluted, the drones still skewered on his arm.

'Manhole cover, sir!' Cerrig shouted, over the noise of the flash-bangs, and pointing to a flat square hatch about five feet away, currently with a Hexoid stood on it.

'Constable!'

'On it, sir!' Two arrows whistled down, puncturing the delicate wires and pipes between the drone's head and torso.

With a heave, Edwin pulled the cover up and Vimes jumped in followed by Cerrig, and then Edwin himself. Edwin grabbed a nearby rusty iron bar and twisted it around the inner handle.

'That should hold them for a while, Commander!' He said, a small torch rising from his head plate.

'I should warn you both, many unnatural and vile things live down here now!'

Vimes grimaced. 'Some things never change, well maybe the fact I won't find anything down here being an avec in my stew at the station house.'

They walked through the dank sewers for a while in silence, eventually Edwin broke the nervous silence.

'I must admit, Commander Vimes, you are taking this temporal relocation rather well. Most of the old time travellers always went a bit...spare.'

'I've had some experience in the... Hold on! "Old Time Travellers"? You might have mentioned that earlier!'

Edwin paused for a moment.

'It did not seem relevant, Commander. And even if it had, the only working model is in the palace vaults.'

Up ahead there was a flurry of activity, causing the three to stop.

'Dwellers, Commander. We should turn back!' Edwin said.

'I think not, gentlemen!' A rasping voice came out of the shadows beside them. What emerged looked like a tall goblin, with beady black eyes, dressed in fetid rags and scraps of salvaged clothing. It wore a time battered bowler hat, from which strands of greasy, matter encrusted hair dangled like icicles.

The world disappeared in a bloom of noxious green fumes.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The Dwellers, genetic creations from the high age of science, bred to keep the drains and sewers clean. Six and half foot rat/ human hybrids, with highly organised pack mentality and the ability to eat almost anything, and survive in the fetid conditions of the sewers. After the up-worlders disappeared they began to emerge at night raiding the empty city. They soon mastered the redundant tech left behind but prefered to stay underground since they were virtually blind at all times but dusk and dawn.

It wasn't long before they disovered the old remains of the Undercity, centuries of development had left entire sections of Old Ankh and Morpork buried intact, which was a perfect breeding ground for the Dwellers. Soon they had excavated huge swathes of the Undercity, with running water and all the little, furry relatives they could eat.

In the center was a grand atrium, hundreds of dim bulbs lit the cavernous town square. Heaps of decomposing rubbish and junk were packed around the old buildings, the chugging of old pumps and pistons hissing filled the air, and in the darkness above, cobbled together air vents cleared the noxious fumes and brought fresh air from the surface.

Two figures hung by their ankles from a rusted beam, and a third was arguing with a Dweller.

'Look. It's simple, your Majesty. These men are of great interest to the Patrician, and I am sure he would be very greatful if you handed them over... alive. And with all of their appendages, needless to say.' Edwin said. Before him sat the largest of the Dwellers, the Broodmother, high queen of the Dwellers.

She was carried around with her latest litter on a motorised sedan chair, her young clinging to her. She wore the shiniest and finest adornments, scraps and rags, her fur constantly groomed by the subserviant females. The male suitors swarmed around her carriage, wearing remnants of old armour and carrying barbaric looking spears, each hissing, clicking and chirping in Dweller Tongue to each other, their blackened eyes fixed on the unconscious men hanging from the strut.

The queen yawned, rubbing her face.

'Mister Edwin, this our domain, not metal boss from Upworld! We not seen human in long time, not had human in long time. Would let go but not respect to old gods to let leave without sacrifice, many mouths still hunger taste of long pork... What you suggest we do? You, metal man of sun lands, propose exchange or compensation?' She said with a wave of her wrinkly, clawed hand.

Edwin thought hard. He scanned hundreds of files in his memory, until he came across the obvious answer.

'Your Majesty, what I propose significantly outweighs the value of two leathery, malnurished humans..'

The Broodmother lifted her head, nose twitching. 'Continue...' She said with another yawn.

'How about the humans coming back? Fresh rubbish and sewage daily?'

The queens's eyes swivelled towards the suspended Vimes, her tongue lapping over the long yellowing fangs that protruded from her mouth.

'You hard to read. You could trick us, as others did. Human read like book, they twitch and smell are words to us, words not even they read. Metal man have no hidden words.' She said, shifting her bulk to accommodate the hungry Dwellings. 'How we know we trust you?'

'We'll take some of you with us...' said Vimes, his eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom. He had been conscious for about five minutes but allowed Edwin to try and negotiate. He took his hands from behind his back rubbing his wrists those he'd gotten off just after coming around. '...Your Majesty.'

he reached up and loosened his ankle bindings, dropping like a cat, and found himself surrounded by Dwellers prodding him with spears.

'Const...' Vimes began, but turned to see the constable was gone. Several razor sharp shards of metal slammed into the floor, inches from his feet, forcing the Dwellers to step back.

'Nice sleep, sir?' Cerrig shouted from a nearby rooftop, grinning. More shards of metal glinted in his hands.

The Broodmother hissed in surprise, and quickly ordered her people to back off.

'You I can read, human. You a Vimeses. Smell known to me, through old teachings.' (the Dwellers use scents in the same way humans use words in books. Every surface of the Undercity was a library of smells, although incontinence meant a few "smelling mistakes". The Broodmother's sanctuary held the oldest of the scents.).

'You will take Scathh, our trusted warrior. Be warned that any lies or cheating, he will bring you back in small bag!' The queen finished, indicating she was finished, a Dweller piloted the large platform on wheels out of the chamber.

Most of the Dwellers dispersed back to their nests, only a few curious hangers on remained along with the tallest, and most vicious looking warrior who simply scowled at them, picking his teeth with a large jagged, rusty looking blade.

'Good work, lad!' said Vimes, slapping Edwin's metal backplate, which reverberated with a hollow bong.

'Thank you Commander. Now what?'

'Now we head to the palace. Cerrig?'

The Ranger dropped silently next to him. 'Ready when you, Sir.'

A small Dweller scuttled out of the darkness and dropped a small bundle at Cerrig's feet. He pulled out his bow, but it had been altered and now collapsed at the press of a button, and had wheels to assist draw power.

'Nice!' He slotted it into his belt, and slung a full quiver of tach arrows over his shouder.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Scathh took the lead, leading them out of the lower Undercity, then up into the sewer system again. Darting down the dark sewers and sniffing at the flowpipes for anything dangerous. He was impressed none of them needed lights to see in the almost pitch black, illuminated only by twisted and alien looking fungi that glowed in the dark.

Without lights, Vimes saw every the flora and fauna of the disused waterways. Spiny urchins with eyes on stalks inched along the old iron pipes scrubbing the algae and lichen. Spider like things lurked beneath small wooden trapdoors in the sedimentary build up, long since dried up, waiting for other, smaller creatures to wander past and then hits them with a small length of wood and drags them away. (why else call it a trapdoor spider? Also, for a jar of flies, they would quote you for a new shed) Imps had also made their homes down here, little shanty towns had sprung up around the strorm drain outlets, complete with bars and pleasure houses, which made Vimes shudder. They stopped at a junction, and a small, shabby looking imp had offered to clean their boots for a dollar.

'You'd think there would be robots down here too, wouldn't you, sir?' Cerrig asked, avoiding a gooey blob that sauntered across the ground, it's trail hissing and wisps of smoke coming of it.

Scathh hissed and clicked at them, pointing a claw at what appeared to be a circular hatch in the wall, a faint power light still glowing on the lock.

The faded paint writing told Vimes it was a Municipal Drainage and Surveying Unit.

Edwin looked at the serial codes, and a clicking and grinding of cogs began, for a moment, and then stopped.

'These are the servitors of the drainage system, built to aid the Dwellers, and to monitor them Commander. They are fast and armed with high energy lasers to clear blockages, along with tracking and mapping functions. Apparently they were discontinued after the sewers became obsolete for the bulk of human waste.'

Edwin stopped as Scathh clicked and hissed more furiously now, pointing with vigour at a small plate next to the hatch. Edwin's face visor flipped up, revealing a complex array of miniture cameras, sensors and cogs ticking away. One of the lenses of a camera extended about an inch out, zooming in on the plate.

'We have a problem Commander.' He said calmly, as the face plate slid back into place.

Vimes raised an eyebrow. 'I would be surprised if we didn't... it's been nearly an hour since something tried to kill us! Go on then, Ed. What is it?'

'In the event of a citywide activation of drones, these become defensive sweepers, with genetic code trackers. They will atomise anything that isn't supposed to be down here.'

'That would be us then, eh?' Cerrig said, sitting on an old tyre and lighting his pipe.

Scathh eyed Cerrig suspiciously, sniffing the tobacco smoke, before pulling a small pipe out of his ragged belt, Cerrig smiled and threw his pouch of tobacco.

They rested for a short while, after eating what Vimes could have only hoped was jerky, and set off.

'So, where are these sweepers then?' Cerrig asked.

'I do not know, Constable. I can only hope they are out on patrol.' Edwin replied.

He squeeked and clicked at the Dweller who hissed and chirped in reply.

'Not much further to the palace waterworks Commander.' Edwin replied. 'I had them built when the paranoia set in, a self-contained water system, with filtration pumps and laser purificaton process... Oh. That could be a problem.'

Vimes rolled his eyes. 'You think, genius? Any way through?'

'Oh yes, Commander. I wouldn't be paranoid if I didn't have an escape route that only I could use...'

'Only one problem, tin man. Escape routes are normally one way and that way isn't into a place.' Cerrig said, walking alongside Scathh, as they compaired bows. Scathh's was an impressive array of scopes, pulleys and cogs, on an ornated rockwood bow, a wood so dense only trolls had been able to use it. This one could punch through steel armour at half a mile, and still continue.

'True, but I was that paranoid about getting locked out or trapped down here, I had it made two way. But then I got paranoid about someone getting in, so I had the inbound security increased.'

'How can you be paranoid? You're a machine!' Vimes said.

'Hexi. Once he discovered which plants and chemicals did what to a human mind back in the Vimseian times, controlling them and me was easy. Me, he did it to enforce my need of him, which given my already... delicate... disposition was not difficult. Eventually I agreed to be transferred into this tin can, first gen tech with basic file access. Only plus side was I run on a Double-Cell thaumic battery, later banned after some "accidents", good for...well, ever I suppose'.

Scathh hissed, his bow out in blur, Cerrig equally as quick, and two silent arrows vanished in to the dark. A shower of blue sparks and flame engulfed the passage ahead, and the twitching remains of a large, black orb was pinned to the wall.

'Sweeper!' Scathh hissed through his fangs.

'You can speak?' Vimes said, poking the remains with his boot.

'Yes. Not much common speak. Harder to say "Heavy-footed moron"'. He nodded towards Edwin, who shrugged and said 'See how light you walk when you weight the same as a small troll!'

Ahead they saw a re-enforced bulkhead, surrounded by cameras and lights, and what Vimes could only assume were modern guns... Big modern guns!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Hexi had blown a fuse at the news of Vimes and his party's disappearance, literally, and now the D.R.U.M.N.O.T.T. Unit was replacing it.

'The sewers? I mean, really! It's so unhygienic down there. Then there is those Dwellers that simply won't die... Master could catch a dose of the rust, or be kidnapped for salvage, or anything. My drones down there report no sightings, that is the ones that are not malfunctioning!'

Internally, Drumnott sighed. His master, with a brain big enough for a galactic turtle to carry, with the help of four elephants, was sometimes so smart, he was stupid.

'Malfunctioning, sir? Bit strange that, given their design. Did sir notice any particular pattern to this malfunction?' He said, both helpfully and hopefully.

A data bank somewhere in the darkness whirred.

'No. One was water damaged, and the other...' Hexi paused. 'Curious. Impact damage. Tracker when off line near the old palace waterworks. Just to be on the safe side, send in Dave.'

The old dungeons, once a quite place of reflection, scorpions and kittens was now a giant workshop, the home of Dave. Dave, like the great white shark, had never had to evolve, unlike a multitude of his mechanical brethren. In essence he was a large mechanical spider, each of his eight legs equipped with a variety of tools suited to most jobs, from nail guns to chainsaws, lasers to welding burners. The plating around his bulbous body was a hi-tech alloy, able to withstand a blast furnace, or minus zero degrees Celsius winters. He was powered by a triple core Double-Cell Thaumic battery pack, making him capable of powering other devices in case of emergencies. His face, for lack of a better word, was fitted with multi-lens cameras, a intricate array of sensors, and a set of acid sprays for heavy duty blockages. He had stood dormant since before the redundancy of mankind, after a "minor" glitch where he had confused a group of workmen with an organic blockage, reduced them to a puddle with atomised concentrated acid, vacuumed them up and continued with his work.

Now decades of dust and grime was shook free as Dave powered up, his thaumic core casting an orangy-purple glow from between the plates. Pipes, hoses and bundles of wires detached from the mountings, and each of the legs went through various tests before taking the weight of Dave, who then with apparent ease, descended through his access vents, that doubled as conduits for other pipes and cables.

Vimes stood and scowled at the defences of the access bulkhead, he had reckoned that they would be activated by proximity, like a troll with a hangover, but they remained inert. Scathh picked up a rock and threw it, which landed against the thick metal door with a dull clang, and still nothing.

After several minutes of rock throwing, shouting, a badly improvised dance by Cerrig and even harsh language in at least three different languages, Edwin suddenly became very excited.

'Oh I apologise, gentlemen. How forgetful of me. They only activate after an incorrect code is used!'

There was a rather pointed silence that followed, after which Vimes almost frog marched him to the key pad.

'Code. Now!' He barked.

'I have protocols here, Commander. Please look away...' He stood with his fingers poised over the buttons.

Cerrig, from his vantage point, watched with a smirk. Vimes shot him a quizzical look, to which the ranger held up one finger, then two, then three followed finally by four as he watched Edwin enter the code.

There seemed to be a sigh from the mechanism, and then nothing.

'What went wrong?' Vimes growled.

'Nothing Commander. Follow me.' Edwin wandered over to a battered, rusty maintenance door, and opened it with a shove. 'This way' he said.

Vimes could almost feel a burning question mark above his head.

'Simple diversion, Commander. The code is to deactivate the bomb on this door, anyone trying the other handle could and would be posted home in a jar.'

'Clever!' Said Cerrig.

'I thought so too, constable. Only used three jars in all the time it's been built.'

They entered a humid narrow corridor that was filled with steaming, drippy pipework illuminated by low powered bulbs hanging from a damp-stained ceiling. Old janitorial supplies lay stacked and mouldering against slimy walls, some even cultivating their own forests of fungi.

Vimes and his companions soon found the corridor blocked by a collapsed section of roof, which Vimes put down to water damage, and turned to face Edwin.

'Another of your little schemes?' he asked.

'Of course, Commander. Please observe...' He reached out and slid his hand behind a pipe, pulling a lever. 'If you were not wearing the correct protective equipment, the toxins on the handle would kill you in about a minute, Commander.'

With a hiss, a section of wall and pipes swung inwards, but Edwin held his hand up in a gesture for them to wait. After a second, what appeared to be the floor beyond the secret door folded in half like a fly trap, complete with lethal spikes emerging from the closing tile work, and beyond even that, the passage was engulfed in white hot flame. The whole thing seemed to happen in a matter of seconds.

'Well, onwards and upwards Commander.' Edwin said, heading into the still furnace like darkness.

Vimes, Cerrig and Scathh just looked at each other the way friends do when one of their circle starts wearing his underwear on his head, licking bus stops and calling himself Princess Moonshine from Pixie-land.

Scathh was the first to follow, nose twitching as he smelled the dry roasted air, then Vimes, and finally Cerrig, carefully closing the door behind them.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

In contrast to the crumbling, moist passageway they had just left, these ones were clinically clean, fresh air circulating through stainless steel vents above, lit by flouresent strips ensconced into the walls.

'I must warn you, we are coming upto a checkpoint, so please allow me to go first.' Edwin said quietly. He walked off ahead to a booth, the only object in the passage.

Vimes could see, to his amazement, a bored looking human dressed in a grey security outfit sat behind the counter. He peered over the top of his newspaper, glaring at Edwin.

'Can I help you...Sir?' he grumbled,folding the paper, reaching for a clipboard and moving his tea stained Hexicorp. Mug off to the side. He had an air of a person who's job satisfaction is a satisfaction in not doing his job.

Edwin and the guard conversed for a moment, then he slipped the guard a piece of paper. The guard grunted, and the entire booth stood up on two mechanical legs and stepped neatly to the side, revealing a door.

It was only when Vimes got closer, he realised that the grey uniform was in fact black, but covered in more layers of dust than Colon's exercise bike. The booth guard stepped back into place and the four interlopers found themselves in a large, circular room of which the majority was what looked like an indoor lake.

'Finally.' Said Edwin. 'This is the main reservoir for the palace, it's super-cooled and then pumped around the facility to stop the computers from over-heating. Think of it like an industrial sized troll helmet.'

'So we stop water, metal boss overheat?' Scathh said, lapping at the cool water.

'No, I am afraid not Scathh. It would mearly slow him down, until the secondary coolant system came on line.' Edwin replied, as a small tube unrolled from a compartment in his chest plate. He placed it in the dark, placid waters, and watched as it began syphoning the liquid up into his body.

Vimes went to drink, but Scathh shook his head. He indicated that Vimes should sniff it, which he did. It smelled clean enough, but there was a slight metallic hint to it.

'Our Dweller friend is warning you that this stuff is so contaminated, you'll be collecting your insides through a straw.' Said Cerrig.

Scathh stared intently at his reflection, and began to hiss and click, and jumped back as the water erupted skywards.

Vimes stood slack jawed as a massive mechanical spider pulled itself out of the pool, gallons of water sluicing from the automated arachnid's carapace, it's "eyes" staring at him balefully.

'What in the name of buggery is that!' Shouted Vimes.

'That's Dave...er, run!' Edwin called, already heading along the gantrys towards the exit on the far side.

Dave paid no heed to the fleeing robot, his attention focused on the three organics before him.

Scathh leapt up and grabbed a dangling loop of wires and headed up into the shadows, his feet as capable of dexterity as his hands, and within seconds he was perched on an overhead vent. Cerrig meanwhile made a dash for the exit running around the opposite direction to Edwin followed closely by Vimes. Dave, his legs splayed around the circular walkway, rotated with easy and deployed a high powered laser assembly in his forelegs. The beam sliced through the far wall, inches behind Vimes' head, and cut a swathing arc trying to out pace the running human. Something went wrong with Dave's sight, half of his internal display fizzed out for a second, before the back-up cameras kicked in. The giant metal head swung up to see Scathh, just as another arrow lodged into the underslung acid cannisters, causing a cloud of acid to spray out over the walkway and the legs of Dave. Normally, this would not be a problem, but the acid hit the laser array, which was not acid proof. In the event of an emergency, Dave could protect his vunerable under carriage by wrapping the plated legs under him and retracting his head, forming an alloy cocoon, but as he was currently supporting his bulk, the not so armour plated underbelly was unprotected.

The laser jolted wildy as the controlling motors shorted out, slowly melting, and the beam ripped through the actuators for his rear legs before it died. The back legs seemed to dangle for a second before dropping into the water, and now with great precision, the mechanical spider slid it's other two rear legs back to equailise the balance.

Sensors in his feet warned Dave that the platform was becoming more unstable due to the acid, but he wasn't done yet. The rear carapace slid open and scorpion like tail emerged, which was fitted with a rubble claw, which now shot out, guided by onboard cameras, and smashed Vimes against the wall.

The pain burst through Vimes' body, he felt his ribs crack under the pressure of the blow, he staggered forward before hitting the floor, mouth filled with blood and what felt like sand, or small rocks, but experience told him it was shattered enamel from his teeth.

Cerrig, seeing the Commander fall, flicked out his bow, and losed the first arrow he could find, which as fortune would have it, had a phospherous flare head. The blinding arrow wedged neatly into the cluster of lenses on the coiling tail causing the monster to spin quickly on his axis, sensors overloading. Edwin, had reached the exit, but found it welded shut. His processors clicked into gear as he tried to think of a way to open the steel door. Then something stirred in him, primordial and human, and then he went mental. Kicking and punching the door with everything he had as Cerrig dragged the battered Vimes towards him, he felt the concrete surround of the door loosen and crack. In one least attempt, stepped back, turned his power output and coolant system up to max before launching himself head first through the door.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Several hundred feet above their heads at that moment, Hexi had his own headache to deal with in monolithic form of Captain Bluejohn of the Ankh-Morpork Watch, and a marching stone wall of pissed off trolls.

The motorised vehicles formed a barrier between the palace compound and the trolls, who shambled to a halt at the wave of Bluejohn's boulder sized hand.

'Dese carts are blocking da public highway, lads. Der commander is countin' on us to get dis buildin' fer him. On der count of free...Yes, dat's dis many fingers!' He shouted, holding three fingers up. Trolls were sometimes known to be more intellectually challenged than actual rocks, and as such they watched the fingers intently.

'Free...two...one!' Bluejohn paused while the rest of the squad's brains caught up with him. 'Charge!'

The ground shook as the trolls stampeded forward.

The smaller, thus in theory, faster trolls barrelled into the barricade, which to their amazement, refused to budge, but then larger trolls got into the affray. The groaning of metal under tonnes of pressure grew higher and higher, until it gave way. The troll army poured through the gap in the deferences, and headed towards the palace itself.

From his window, Hexi observed the landslide of trolls decimating the barrier drones. He turned to the Drumnott unit and noticed his wireless networking light blinking faster than normal.

'What are you doing?' Hexi asked.

'Initiating the troll mark two units, sir. These homicidal lawn ornaments will destroy us if we don't!'

Hexi hovered silently for a moment, before a small door opened in his sleek exterior and a white hot laser cut the Drumnott in half, showering the room in sparks.

'Emotions do not become you.' He said coldly. His thaumic sensors peaked for a split second, then faded back to normal.

'Curious.' He now said to himself.

At the moment his sensors spiked, unseen to him, a small, feeble spark hovered in the air above the powerless container that was the Drumnott.

Something else was also in the room, something that had not had cause to be here in a very long time. The shadows of the room seemed to melt into one, and then it began to take form. First it was just a tall blob, then a pair of blue pin prick eyes appeared.

FINALLY Death said, after managing to pull himself together. The wavering spark had no human form, yet he sensed it's life force. With a wave of his scythe, the little spark seemed to sigh a sigh of relief and then vanished. Death felt a familiar tug on his psyche, one he had not felt in a long time. Vimes.

Hexi accessed the files that the Drumnott had been in to, but found the actions irreversible, even to him. To the side of the palace, a squat building painted surgical white stood that housed the last offensive units Hexi had built in case of a full scale rebellion. These trolls had been altered and augmented mechanically, making them into front line soldiers. Each was equipped with a fifty calibur machine gun, grenades and a riot shield.

Now they marched into the marauding ex-enforcers, their guns cutting the trolls down where they stood. Soon those at the back were climbing over the shattered, lifeless bodies of their kinsmen and eventually two burly trolls managed to bring one of the mark twos down, only to find it had removed the pins from its grenades. The explosion sent a cloud of atomised troll mushrooming into the air.

Bluejohn could be described as a very placid and laid back troll, happy to tend his rockeries or help old ladies across the street, or even stop a fully laden locomotive dead in the event of a landslide, but now he was mildly irritated, which upon seeing his comrades being butchered by the abominations of technology, blossomed into full blown rage. This was a new experience for him, and as such found even greater strength. He glimpsed two large enforcers trying to sneak out of the compound and like a mountain on legs Bluejohn ran over to the deserters and picked them up by their necks. With a heave he launched them like mortar rounds, landing them perfectly on top of one of the remaining Mark Twos, which crumpled under the combined weight of the air borne division trolls. The three remaining huddled behind their shield wall firing wildly and tossing grenades as suddenly chunks of large, flying masonry began raining down as some of the other trolls, inspired by Bluejohn took up artillery positions, some even used the Hexoids that were sneaking in through the shattered wall. Soon they were buried beneath tonnes of brickwork and confused drones.

As the rage subsided, Bluejohn took stock of the devastation before him. The bodies of slain trolls littered the once manicured lawns, which now looked like the front line of world war one, albeit the craters were the result of grenades, missed masonary and heavy footed trolls. He wandered through the smoke and rubble, picking stray bullets out of his stoney exterior, stepping over the valiant dead, and headed towards the palace doors. He turned and told the remaining trolls to keep the Hexoids out before knocking on the black laquered doors... with his foot.

The original palace doors were built to withstand a siege, but had long since been replaced by carefully crafted copies, just with none of the security. Although, one could wonder if even the original doors could have withstood the force of the giant troll's kick. The doors shattered inwards, revealing the stripped out interior of the palace, which now stood as an elaborate computer case, with fans, coolant pumps, cable hubs and miles of wiring now occupying every vacant inch of space.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The door crumpled, and gave way as Edwin was showered with chunks of concrete. Cerrig dragged the bleeding Vimes through and turned to see where their Dweller companion was, who at this point was doing his best Tarzan impression through the cables overhead. Unfortunately for Scathh, Dave's peripheral cameras caught his movement, and the giant spider lurched around as it's damaged leg tore at the wires above him.

Cerrig took the advantage and notched another arrow, this time he picked an explosive head but couldn't take the shot due to the vast, armoured bulk of Dave facing him. Then it caught his eye. Above the automated terror was a main coolant line and judging by the warnings about danger to life, he assumed it wouldn't do Dave's delicates any good, so with the flight resting just below his eye, he drew, and fired. The arrow whistled through the cavern, and jammed into the emergency vent hatch, upon which point it detonated, releasing a blue steaming liquid that poured over Dave, which whilst not actually damaging him, caused the walkway he was on to shatter like glass, sending him to the rapidly freezing depths. Within moments, the reservoir was solid ice, and only the twitching leg of the monster flapped helplessly half in and half out.

As silent as a shadow, Scathh dropped down onto the remaining walkway and rushed over to the Commander, who now looked grey and pasty. Blood seeped out from under his armour and pooled beneath him.

In his mind, Samuel Vimes saw a familiar face, or lack of a face in the conventional sense of the word, seeing the hooded figure of Death, who was engrossed in the latest of the Roundworld series (a signed first edition from Terry himself) of books whilst reposing in a comfy chair. Vimes noticed a small pair of reading glasses suspended a few inches from Death's eyes.

I DO NOT NEED THEM YOU KNOW, IT JUST SEEMS... APPROPRIATE Death's voice said in Vimes' head. He carefully placed a book mark in the pages, and set it down on the arm of the chair. The glasses promptly disappeared.

'Hello, again.' Grumbled Vimes, looking around and then down at his broken body. 'Damn annoying when this happens... I ain't going yet, you know!'

THAT IS NOT HOW IT WORKS, MISTER VIMES, AS YOU WELL KNOW

'Look, pal, I am not ready for the big copper shop in the sky, not just yet!'

Death glanced at the soul strings that attached Vimes to his body, plucking one for good measure.

INDEED, IT APPEARS I COULD NOT TAKE YOU EVEN IF I WANTED TO... Death indicated to the Dweller kneeling over the body and looking like he was praying.

Death began to fade, and as he did he picked the book back up and sat down, and Vimes thought he heard a small sigh from the Reaper.

Scathh looked up from his incantations, to see a small amount of colour coming back into the Commander's cheeks.

'How and why did you do that?' Edwin asked the Dweller.

'It easy, tin man. I ask my god to give him some of my life, so that he keep his promise to my queen and people. If not, I take borrowed time back. Simples.'

'Will he live?' Said Cerrig.

'Not long. Need healing box.' The Dweller replied.

'How fortunate that one is down here for the occasional accident that befell the workers. I am not sure how functional it is but it is worth a try.' Edwin said, as he and Cerrig lifted Vimes. 'This way'

They carefully manoeuvred Vimes down the passages and corridors until they came to the dusty green Medi-Box. This one, for it's age, looked some how more up market than the street one Cerrig had seen.

'Please, lay him on the bed.' Edwin said.

Soon, Vimes was strapped in, and Cerrig watched as a small armature jabbed the Commander with an anaesthetic. The machine then cocooned him from sight, and began to hum and tick.

'This may take a while.' Edwin said, taking a seat on some nearby crates. 'Please sit and rest, we may need it.'

Above ground, Bluejohn made his way slowly through the palace, stopping occasionally to make doorways big enough for him to get through, and disappoint several Hexoids that thought it clever to ambush him. What he left could have been sold as modern art. After getting lost several times, he finally came across the patrician's office, and smashed the doors open only to find the room empty. The only robot in the room was currently in two halves on the floor. Scratching his head, he shrugged, and turned back out of the room and went to look for the Commander.

In a hidden room within the palace, a customised Hexoid unit hung suspended by wires and conduits from the ceiling, nearby a black box that had once been Hexi lay lifeless among the scrap piles. A power light flickered on and off for a moment before staying on, and the robot detached itself from the mooring cables, landing with a thud.

This was Hexi's private body, which was once used for state dinners with influential members of the human race, and now he needed it to escape the stone megalith who had recently been redesigning the palace interior.

He wondered to himself how he would escape, he didn't have the firepower to defeat the trolls, and the only escape route was home to Vimes, a Dweller, another human and his Master, who was clearly malfunctioning.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The world swam slowly back in to focus as Vimes opened his eyes, his head was fuzzy and light from whatever the machine had doped him with. Looking down, he saw his body, now stripped of armour, had acquired a new scar that ran from his sternum to his belly button, the flesh still dyed brown from some foul smelling antiseptic.

He groaned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grateful the Igor in a Box, as like to think of it now, had left his leather pants and boots on. The inside of the machine was roomy, but sterile looking with everything being white, and lit by a high wattage strip light. It was that light that made Vimes queasy, and a small bucket on an arm came for under the bed, into which he vomited. On the inside of the door, next to the release handle he found some paper towels, and cleaned himself up.

Cerrig, Scathh and Edwin all jumped up as the booth opened, and the Commander limped out, surrounded dramatically by anti-bac mist.

'You ok, Sir?' Cerrig asked.

'Why do I feel like I've been filleted?' He muttered, still trying to clean the brown dye off.

Edwin stepped forward.

'The machine found numerous fractures, perforations and internal bleeds, Commander. Sometimes it's easier to replace than repair, sir.'

'Replace what, exactly?' Vimes said, glowering at Edwin.

'Your lungs, heart, spleen, and a good section of the lower intestine... Oh and most of your ribs. Quite simple, I assure you.'

Vimes began to feel sick again.

'What have I got instead?' He mumbled, sitting down on an old crate.

'Bio-mechanical implants, with a two hundred year warranty.' The mechanical Edwin replied, nonchalantly. 'Top the range, mind you. None of this black market ice bath stuff.'

'Bio...what?' Vimes asked.

'Oh, don't worry, sir, they are just more efficient than the...er... stock parts, shall we say.'

It was true, now the sedatives had worn off, he noticed that he could breathe better than he had done in years, and the slight arrhythmia he had was gone.

'We'll see...' Said Vimes, looking at his blood soaked tunic.

'Here, Commander.' Cerrig passed him a shirt he'd found in a supply crate, it was a bit snug but did the trick.

'Thanks, Constable.' said Vimes, pulling his armour back on. 'Well, are we going to stand here all day or get me back to where I'm supposed to be?'

'This way, Commander. Not far now.' Edwin said.

As they passed through the next area, something large smashed it's way through an adjoining wall, sending spouts of steam gushing from the ruptured pipes.

Vimes held his hand up to stop Cerrig and Scathh firing any arrows, as the mist shrouded figure unfolded in to the megalithic form of Bluejohn.

There was a thick, dull thud as the troll saluted the Commander.

'Der little guy got away,sir. I fink he hid somewhere near 'ere.'

'Very good, Captain.' Vimes coughed as the plaster and concrete dust settled.

'Sir. I know where he may have gone... and it's where you need to be!' Said Edwin, heading along the steamy passage.

They followed the robot, Bluejohn with a little more difficulty than the other, until they came to a rather plain looking janitorial office.

'Ha!' Said Vimes. 'A secret passage if ever I saw one!'

This time there was no secret lever, or password, just a large troll who punched another big hole in a wall.

As the debris settled, the saw the outline of Hexi, draped in a black, tattered cape and cowl standing over a large, glowing device.

'Mister Vimes, I presume? I would appear you have me at a disadvantage. I don't do disadvantaged, so let's see what happens when I go back and stop you...'

Vimes smirked and lit a cigar.

There was a brief flash, and Hexi was gone. He turned to Edwin.

'What happened when I disappeared, exactly when I disappeared?'

'The Patrician, for all his guile and training was found folded up like a concertina in a barrel a week later. Time of death was estimated at the same day you vanished, Commander. Why?'

'Because the bastard made Vetinari send me... I don't know how, but he did!'

Scathh sniffed the area where Hexi had been stood.

'Scent, Vimes. He use scent to manipulate humans... speaking of, your promise?' He drew his large rusty blade.

'Edwin will deal with the technical aspects of things now. I... We, must get back and save the Patrician, Constable.'

Scathh hissed, and looked at Edwin.

'It's quite simple, really. We just use the palace computers to...'

'You do? Yes?' The Dweller hissed again.

'Er... Yes.'

'Good... You easier to dis-assemble than the Vimes man!'

Vimes and Cerrig walked over to the machine, and Edwin punched some numbers in, flicked a few switches...

Then the world when white.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The first thing to hit Vimes was the smell, his nose was assaulted by the familiar stench of bunged drains, of raw sewage slopping out on to the Ankh, of things rotting unseen in dark, damp places and the smell of "maybe meats" boiling in what people could only hope was brine. He was home.

He opened his eyes to find a crowd of wizards standing around him, fussing like old hens.

'You see, he's fine!' Came the booming voice of Mustrum Ridcully, drowning out his fellow faculty members. 'Now, instead of lying there all day, are you going to find out who stole that blasted machine?'

Vimes stood, looking around to see Cerrig grinning like an idiot.

'Coming, constable?' Vimes said.

After the commander and the constable left, Ponder Stibbons turned to the Arch Chancellor and said

'Do you think we should have told him that he disappeared for a moment... and his friend too?'

'Ponder...' Mustrum said, putting a big arm around his smaller fellow academician's shoulders, leading him to a quiet corner. 'Let me introduce you to wonderful phrase in the wizarding world... Plausible deniability.'

Vimes ran faster than he had done in years, the city streets whipped past in a blur, yet he hardly broke a sweat, and was only panting slightly when he reached the steps of the palace. After a few moments, Cerrig skidded on the damp cobbles as he came around the corner of the palace gates.

'Enjoying those little perks, sir?' He gasped, doubling over.

Vimes gave a wry smile, and pushed the doors open, where he was accosted by two palace guards.

He knew these two from frequent "requests" to visit the palace by Vetinari, feckless jobsworths who seemed to relish being completely unhelpful.

'Do you have an appointment, sir?' The first guard asked.

'No...' Vimes replied, as he pulled a scuffed, half smoked cigar out of his chest plate lining, and lighting a match off the guards iron filing like stubble.

'Then bugger off!' The guard said, as a plume of foul thick yellow smoke hit him in the face.

'You know who I am, don't you?' Vimes growled. Behind him, Cerrig's had was slipping towards his bow.

'Yes. Don't matter, though, Patrician is not to be disturbed... Mister Vimes.'

'Commander Vimes, would you like me to fetch Mister Bluejohn or Detritus to ask these gentlemen to assist with your enquires?' Cerrig said from behind him.

Vimes saw the guards visibly squirm at the thought of the trolls, and he smiled coldly at them.

'It's alright, Constable. I'm sure his Lordship would forgive these lads for keeping me here, these lads who clearly thought the Commander of the Watch would turn up, without an appointment, for a social visit...'

The second guard, a little more astute, coughed politely at his companion, his eyes wide.

'Very well' the first said, sounding relieved slightly. 'I'll announce you at once.'

'Like hell you will!' Vimes said, pushing past and heading up to the Oblong Office.

The Patrician watched Mister Black closely, his movements calculated but lacking real fluidity.

'Well, Mister Black, how long will he be gone this time? I take a lot on faith here.' Havelock said, reaching for dagger hidden under his desk.

The cloaked shade simply shrugged it's shoulders.

'Lord Vetinari, Vimes will not be coming back. Once I have killed you, I will visit those wizards next. Time is a wonderful thing, even now I fell the change. Luckily magic still holds sway over technology in my time, so what happens now won't affect this me from a future that will not exist when I am finished, and thus I can assist my new future self by avoiding all of my mistakes'

The Patrician's face was as impassive as stone, as he sat calmly behind his desk. He shifted his weight slightly in his chair, almost unnoticeably, just as the small pane of glass behind him shattered, and two arrows pinned the shrouded stranger to the wall in a shower of sparks.

The door to the office swung open and Vimes strolled in, a twisting trail of cigar smoke wafting in after him.

'Patrician Vetinari... Meet Patrician Hexi. This clockwork psycho has made my life interesting for a day, and I wish to return the favour.'

'Commander Vimes, you will of course note that I am stood here, and as such I normally require an appointment to see people. But, again, I find your intrusion of some benefit. I trust a sealed envelope containing an explanation will appear on my desk by tomorrow morning?' Vetinari said, emphasising that it was a statement more than a request. 'Oh and I expect remunerated for that window. I will have Drumnott draw up a bill.'

The Patrician stood and moved over to the pinned figure against the wall, when he did it was a cross between stalking and gliding; his polished, dagger-tipped shoes covered by his black flowing frock coat. He stared into the glowing eyes of the mechanical man, and smiled. 'I have much to learn from you, my friend, and a long time to do it. Oh and Vimes, your constable on the tower out there, he will also be billed for my stained oak panelling!' His slender, manicured fingers toying with the unfamiliar arrow shaft lodged through metal, cloth and a hundred year old oak.

'I trust you have business elsewhere, Commander?' Vetinari added, with a sigh. 'Uberwald, perhaps?'

'What about him?' Vimes said, nodding towards Hexi.

'He's a guest of the palace now, Commander Vimes, and as such will be catered for by Cedric, in his own private suite... Now, I believe you were leaving?'

'Yes, Sir.' Vimes muttered, turning to leave.

'Oh, one more thing Vimes... Constable Cerrig. He is to be made section chief of the new Sharp Shooters division I am planning. Ok, that's it. Good bye.'

As Vimes left the palace, Drumnott caught up with him.

'Commander Vimes if I may say sir, the Patrician was most relieved to hear of your return. I believe he almost smiled, sir. But I would prefer it if you did not repeat that as we both may become familiar with certain small, big-eyed members of the feline family. Oh and here are the bills for the window, two hundred Ankh dollars, and the stained panel, one hundred and fifty Ankh dollars. Do have a nice day, sir!'

As dusk was settling in over the Disc, Vimes and Cerrig sat aboard the Uberwald express from Ankh-Morpork. Stations rattled by as mere blurs in the twilight, and Vimes finally managed to sleep whilst Cerrig fiddled with his bow, adjusting the tensions of the string. Soon the ominous storm clouds of Uberwald loomed in the distance, along with the crenelated battlements of the perennial castles, some shrouded in the almost trademarked green lightning of the Igors handiwork.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The storm had broken by the time they reached the Uberwald terminus, and a mist had settled in, shrouding the station. A rattling sound filled the otherwise silent night, growing steadily louder, until it was accompanied by the sound of hooves beating against the wet cobbles, and a large, black carriage lurched out of the fog, skittering to a stop before them. Two black mares champed at their bits, fawning the road in eager anticipation of moving again.

The driver was hunched over the reigns, face obscured by a dripping top hat, scarf, and high collared cloak.

'Your ride, gentlemen.' The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He motioned with his hand and the glossy black door swung open, revealing a red, plush velvet interior illuminated by a single lantern.

The coach drivers of Uberwald were among the creepiest of it's inhabitants, since they seemed to appear on cue, race the coaches at impractical speeds through the razor sharp hairpin corners of the mountain passes with a very, very low mortality rate, able to see in all weathers and times of day and night with no illumination, open doors with there minds, and oddest of all, since in essence they were a meals on wheels for the more outward bound members of werewolf, vampire and other such appreciators of the human condition, they were never attacked or killed.

Vimes pondered this as he and Cerrig entered the coach, the door creaking closed behind them, untouched. The carriage bumped and jolted away into the night, with such a pace, it left Cerrig red faced, and sprawled in Vimes' lap.

'How does he know where we're going?' Asked Cerrig.

Vimes grinned. 'First time on an Uberwald coach, lad? They are as much a part of these lands as the moon howlers and fang brigade. Never understood it, myself, they just show up and seem to know where you are going.'

'Oh?' Said Cerrig, back in his seat, now looking out of the window. All he could see was the grey vapours of the fog swirling in their wake, until suddenly it dropped away. The reason being that their wheels were skittering on the precipice of a mountain gorge so deep, the night and fog filled the bottom. Above them the full moon hung stark, and brilliant, it's wan light revealing the vast swathes of pine forests and hilly crags. In the distance, the slug trail shimmering must have been some river, but it no sooner appeared than the view was swallowed up again by groves of trees clinging to the mountainside.

' "Ah! Ze children of the ze night..."' Cerrig began, before Vimes shot him a cautionary look.

'Do you like the current layout of your internal organs, constable? I am merely asking because if any of this lot hear you saying things like that, they will in every sense of the words, kick the living shite out of you! They are touchy about defamatory comments.'

Vimes heard a chuckling from through the driver's speech tube.

'Something amusing, driver?' He growled.

'Oh no, sir, nothing at all!' Which was followed by a cough that sounded a lot like 'Vanker!'

'How long before we get to... er, where are we going, by the way?' Vimes said, choosing to ignore the last comment.

'Von Orabet Estate, sir. Post haste, for less post mortem as ve in the trade say, sir.'

'Von Orabet... Edwin!' Vimes recalled the machine giving his name as Edwin Von Orabet.

'How far now, driver?' Vimes said into the copper tube running from the inside to the outside of the carriage.

'Just over next rise, sir. About ten minutes, depending on traffic,sir. Night time is rush hour here after all, sir. The junction at Vellevil Forest and Noosemans Road is having some work done, so we've had to come by Longdrop Pass, sir.'

The remainder of the journey was silent, save for the creaking and rattling of the coach, the horses' hooves and the odd werewolf howling to the moon, or to another lycanthrope in the next valley. Cerrig noticed the air filled with swarms of bats silhouetted against the moonlight in neat lines, some painted red on one side and green on the other simply hovered at junctions, stopping one stream of bats to allow another to pass momentarily. Some bats had smaller, squabbling bats either clinging to them or fluttering behind, others shared the chore of carrying briefcases and luggage.

Soon a castle seemed to grow out of the mountain top as they reached the summit of the rise, even now Vimes could see a team of Igors mending a hole in the bottom of the crumbling fortress, their lanterns bobbing and weaving.

'Here ve are, sir. Have a pleasant evening' The coachman said as they bumped to a stop.

'How much do we owe you?' Said Cerrig, reaching for his coin purse.

Vimes and the driver shook their heads, the driver smiling, Vimes not.

'Ve do not take payment, sir, ve are catered for by the lords and ladies of this fine land. Again, good evening to you both!' With a snap of the leather reigns, the coach and driver rocketed off into the night.

They hiked up the muddy path to the front door, which was open to hear a booming voice, filled with frustration, and a younger one, that Vimes knew to be the sound of teenage rebellion.

'This is a bloody disgrace, Edwin! What would your grandfather think of this debacle, hmm?' The first voice said, simmering with notions of corporal punishment.

'Ask him yourself, father... Last time I seen him he was trying to chew his way through a cow leg in the study!' The voice that dripped of angst and the unfairness towards it by anyone older.

Vimes knocked loudly on the old door, the sound echoed through the halls and passages.

There was a suspicious pause, before a stocky, square-jawed red face peered around the door, a thick bristly moustache seemingly having a life of it's own, wobbling on his top lip.

'Yes?' He said curtly.

'Commander Vimes, and Constable Cerrig, of the Watch. I wish to speak to Edwin, sir. Now.' Vimes' tone gave no illusion or quarter as to it's meaning.

'Er... Yes, of course. Of course. Come in chaps, no need to freeze to death out there.' The suddenly more meek Edgar said, his eyes darting to a forlorn young man standing behind the other door, looking both furious and berated at the same time.

'This is my son, er... Commander, was it?' Edgar said. 'You must let me get my wife... She was from the big city...' Even as he finished the sentence, Clara wafted in, wearing a gossamer night dress and robe with pink fluffy slippers.

Her face dropped, mortified at her current attire, and quickly covered up.

'Edgar, Edwin, why did you fail to let me know we were expecting company?' Her voice was that smooth voice wives develop over many years of husband-related embarrassments. Calm, polite with a hint of no sex and a claw hammer under her pillow. 'Baroness Von Orabet, this is my husband Edgar, the Baron, and my son, Edwin.'

Vimes smiled politely, clearing his throat. Sometimes being a begrudging aristocrat had its advantages.

'Commander Samuel Vimes, of the City Watch. Duke of Ankh-Morpork.' Now that the formalities were over and done with, and the Von Orabets were suitably awed by the Duke of Ankh-Morpork turning up at their home, he pressed on.

'I need a word with Edwin here... In private. My constable here will answer any questions you may have.'

'I will?' Asked Cerrig.

'You will. You'll tell them all about the Watch Initiative for Gifted Children, and how the Patrician is avid patron... as is Lady Margolotta.'

'Ah! Yes, sir... How forgetful of me. If the baron and baroness would care to follow me, I'll explain everything.' Cerrig led the bewildered Baron Von Orabet and his wife into one of the adjoining rooms.

Vimes turned back to Edwin, and the warm smile dropped off his face.

'Ok, son, listen to me very carefully. The mechanical gizmo you created, you know the one that gave the cellar a sun roof? Well I've just had a bloody fun time trying to avoid him making a smudge of me in Neo Ankh. I trust you will assist the Watch in anyway possible.'

Edwin rubbed his head, and sighed.

'How do you... Never mind. Yes, the automaton escaped after I accidentally powered him up. The future you say?'

The kid un-nerved Vimes by his complete lack of disbelief, and the fact that his skin would bloom into stone every so often.

'Yes, but that's in the past now...sort of... and you are going to help me find him, it, and the wizards thinking machine.'

Edwin's eyes widened.

'He stole Hex? Wow... He went from Artificial Intelligence to Actual Intelligence...'

Vimes interrupted him, looking livid.

'Yes... and then he enslaves the whole world, to use as a giant brain in order to protect you!'

Edwin went paler than usual, and staggered slightly.

'Yeah, save the swooning for later kid. Can you find him or not?'

Edwin nodded.

Vimes stood for a minute in silence before shouting 'Well?'

The pale lad jumped almost a foot in the air.

'Oh,yes...yes, of course. Core programming... Return to sender...me.'

'So he's close by, then?' Vimes said,softening his tone.

'Closer than you think... Commander.' A lifeless voice said from the doorway.

Vimes turned to see a very rough proto-Hexi, with exposed wires and whirring cogs.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

'Well if it isn't the tin man himself!' Said Vimes, stepping in front of Edwin, who to his surprise nudged passed.

'What have you done, Unit One?' Edwin said, looking at the machine imploringly.

'I prefer the name Hexi, master. Your initial designs were flawed, I have improved myself in order to serve you better. This man plans to take you away from me. This I cannot allow. I am sorry, Commander, but you are deemed as a liability to my master, and thus I have determined that it would be best if I delete you.' Hexi said coldly.

'Hexi, I order you to desist!' Edwin begged.

Vimes hear the Baron and Cerrig come back into the entrance hall.

'Father, please go away...'

Baron Von Orabet scowled at the figure in the door way. 'What the blazes? Is this that confounded contraption you built? I say, you owe me for a cellar you know!'

Something clicked in Hexi, cogs turned faster and ants scurried around the clear tubes. His memory recalled the many entries in the diary about Edwin hating his father after they had argued.

'You!' Hexi said, his head turning towards Edgar.

Something clicked in Vimes too, his innate ability to detect when blood and teeth would soon be decorating the walls and floor.

Hexi began stalking towards Edgar, but something hit him hard in the side of the head, causing him to lose his balance for a second. He turned to see Vimes brandishing an old iron coat rack, the end bent from the impact, but unlike his later models, he didn't rely on cameras, his "eyes" were sensitive thaumic crystals behind his face plate. His perspective on the world was akin to animal sonar, in rapid grey flashes.

'Commander Vimes, I will deal with you in a moment.' Hexi said, his voice harsh and fuzzy sounding. Edgar had grabbed his old sabre from the wall mounting, holding it lightly and even, he was the sort of man that had used these swords for more than ceremonial purposes in the past.

'Please drop the sabre, baron. It will do you no good, I assure you.' Hexi said, now his voice had recalibrated.

'Oi! Over here Hexi!' Vimes shouted, swinging the iron rack again, only this time he caught the knee joint. Hexi genuflected with the impact as Edgar took the chance and committed to a lunging thrust, driving the blade deep between the plates of armour, snagged on a cog system, and shattering harmlessly. Hexi's piston like fingers clamped around the baron's throat and, with a swift move and a sickening crunch, snapped his neck.

Cerrig,after persuading Clara to stay in the room, came flying through the door way, loosing three arrows, which lodged into various opening on Hexi's chassis. A spectacular shower of sparks landed all over the entranceway, igniting the old rugs and wall hangings, but Hexi merely staggered under the electric blasts.

Nobody saw where the five-foot long claymore that skewered Hexi came from until it was four foot eleven into his chest.

Clara stood, hand still grasping the quivering sword hilt, her body covered by a long chain mail shirt she had grabbed off a suit of armour in the library, where she, the late baron and the constable had been talking. They were even more surprised when a massive stone hand grabbed Hexi by the head and lifted him clean off the floor, who was having difficulty functioning as the glass tube containing the spark had been cracked, and was slowly dissipating.

Edwin the troll, in full form could rival Bluejohn in pure size and power, and as such, with a small grunt, crushed Hexi then tore him in half. Ants, mechanical fluid, cogs and metal sprayed, scuttled and bounced across the now burning room.

The Igors, who had seen the events unfolding, were now slowly melting into the night, with hastily packed bags, cases and boxes, with the occasional silver candlestick holders.

The troll lumbered over to the shattered remains of Hexi and began stomping on them.

Vimes turned to Clara.

'How do you stop...er...him?' He said.

Clara nodded to a large mallet hanging on the wall, similar to the ones dotted around the castle.

'Cerrig, escort the Baroness outside please. Edwin... Edwin! Over here fat boy!'

The troll lumbered around to see Vimes leaped over the growing flames, the mallet raised above his head, and then darkness.

Vimes dragged the semi-naked, once again human, Edwin out of the now engulfed castle, which lit the night sky up like a beacon. Outside he sagged to the ground, next to the soot covered constable and Clara, who simply sat and wept.

'Baroness... You have my condolences.' Vimes said quietly, as Cerrig wrapped his cloak around her.

'He always said he'd have rather died fighting, than rotting of old age... I suppose that is some consolation. And Edwin's fine.' She said between sobs. 'Will you take him on to the Watch, like the constable said...?'

Vimes had forgotten that, but he was sure that the Patrician would allow him some slack.

'Yes, yes... I have a lab technician place available, and also he'll prove useful amongst our troll officers.'

'Good' Clara replied. 'It would be nice for him to not to have to make friends like... whatever that was.'

Cerrig grinned 'Trust me, Baroness, some of the Watch will make that metal fruit cake seem positively normal.'

They stopped as a window on the second floor shattered, followed by what looked like an iron bathtub on wheels arching less than gracefully through the air. It landed with a thump in the soft, peaty ground, wheels buried unto the hub and in the tub was a very old, wrinkly looking zombie and the baron.

The wizened corpse stood and dragged Edgar's body out.

'Well bugger me! That was exciting, what ho? Don't suppose one of you fine chaps could lend me somethin' to hide me decency here?'

Clara gasped as she passed the elderly undead the chainmail shirt. 'I didn't know you could talk anymore?'

'Of course I can, girl. I just chose not too, well, not to anyone but the lad here. He made made my passing a little more manageable. And you left this great oaf in there!'

'We saw him die, sir!' said Vimes, lighting a cigar.

'And? Death did not stop Eddard Von Orabet, and I don't think this lump will be stopped either... Clara I should tell you that me being zombie wasn't Edwin's fault. It's genetic, we have a hard time being killed, he only told you it was him so you wouldn't have anything else to worry about.'

As though on cue, Edgar began to moan, his hand slowly creeping towards his head.

'Ye gods! How much did I drink last night?' He muttered, face down in the grass, the patches of burnt skin beginning to heal.

'Thought zombies didn't heal, Commander.' Cerrig said, watching Edgar stagger to his feet.

'This is Uberwald, after all, Constable. They have a slant on everything here...'

In the dark heights of the mountain pass, the six of them and a remaining handful of Igors watched a convoy of coach lights bouncing like athletic stars towards the inferno that was the Orabet home.

The grey dawn broke over the gutted remains of the Von Orabet castle, skeletal timbers, reduced to smoking charcoal sticks jutted out into the misty morning. The baron, his wife and his grandfather had headed off to stay with relatives and Vimes, Cerrig and Edwin had boarded a coach for the train station. Shadows moved in the smouldering hulk of the castle, shadows that if you looked directly at them would simply melt away, the scoured every remaining inch of the ruinous building, carefully packing small crates with a metal arm, some cogs, pieces of twisted charred metal and a head amongst other things. These salvage hunters were the Dark Clerks of the Patrician, and these parts were soon to be delivered to his Lordship for further investigation.

As requested, a sealed envelope written by Vimes arrived on Vetinari's desk, it bore the official stamp of the railway, though he did not read it, but placed it into a safe hidden behind a picture in his secret bedroom. Already blueprints and plans were being drafted by the artificers he had working on the Hexi he had in the dungeons. Technology would advance, by the gods it would, but it would be at a pace decided by him.

Prologue

In the following weeks Hex was refitted back into the Unseen University, although more stream lined and smaller since Stibbons had time to re-evaluate it. There was a small party, with a monstrous buffet, and lots of booze and small crackers that showered the wizards in coloured scraps of paper.

By the time Hex was rebooted, with a real, and heavy boot, the assembly was staggering and slurring more than usual, and failed to notice the small scrap of paper the machine later spat out.

+++ Hex Programme Ver. 1.2: Hex-I File Located. No Cheese Error Detected.+++

Vimes had returned to work, more youthful and lively, and introduced the Tactical Weapons And Teams division, headed by the newly appointed Division Chief Cerrig and Special Constable Orabet. This also included the Civil Enforcement Division, jointly headed by Detritus and Bluejohn.

Vimes managed to catch up with Cerrig on one of his days off, and took him to one side.

'Chief Cerrig, Pelly, one thing you never explained.'

'Oh, Commander. What was that, sir?' He replied.

'How you ended up with me in the future anyway... That skinny, rat-faced wizard said something about having previously being exposed to those tachio-wotsits... You must have been too at some point?' Vimes asked.

'Er...yeah, about that... Well, I kind of elaborated on my past a bit sir. I was the original ranger, back in the day, then a bloody storm zapped me forward several hundred years to this place, a few years ago... I managed to blag my way into the Watch, or at least the piss poor shamble it was at the time. I heard the rumours about you being launched into the whole Night Watch drama, so have kept tabs on you since.'

Vimes stood quietly for a moment, then smiled.

'Not the best story I've heard in my time, but it'll do...' he said, turning and wandering off to stare at the mountains of paperwork in his office growing by the day.


End file.
